Honor Bound
by Baroqy
Summary: Sheppard is back on Atlantis after going missing for two weeks but he doesn't have a clue about what happened. Carson Beckett, Rodney McKay and Kate Heightmeyer try to solve the mystery and in the process uncover a plot that could kill them all.
1. Chapter 1

**Honor Bound by Baroqy**

_Synopsis:_ Sheppard is back on Atlantis after going missing for two weeks. No one has any clues as to what happened, let alone Sheppard. Carson Beckett, Rodney McKay, and Kate Heightmeyer try to solve the mystery and in the process uncover a plot that could kill them all.

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own _Stargate Atlantis_ or any of the characters. If I did I sure as hell wouldn't be writing software specifications for a living.

_Big Shout Out_: To Titan5 for reading my chapters incredibly fast and encouraging me to keep going until the end. To Alleged for making the same point.

_Warning: _**DO NOT READ THIS STORY** if you do not like depressing endings. No one dies (it's definitely not a deathfic) but it does feature an ending that is a result of dubious ethical choices made by major characters. If you prefer happy endings, then please save yourself some angst and don't read.

((--))

He woke up in a field, cold and wet. The fire was out. Long out. His team mates were gone. His sleeping bag was gone. His weapons were gone. He was fully clothed, sprawled out on the grass in the pale light of an alien sunrise.

Last night they'd all been in the same spot. Teyla, Ronon, McKay and himself. Camping here before making the last push back to the stargate. It had actually been a good trip. Friendly locals. No one trying to kidnap them, or kill them or generally mess with them in all the ways that so mightily put a crimp on an otherwise solid mission. Of course, due to the lack of hostilities it had turned out to be a bust when it came to new tech, or a spare ZPM or even a food trade. The only tradable substance the villagers had was alcohol. Hundreds of barrels containing numerous variations with numerous bases including fermented grain, fermented fruit, fermented honey and some bizarre attempt to ferment a local flower. The guiding principle seemed to be that if it was organic and had any sugar content, they should try and make it into liquor.

Somehow Sheppard didn't think Elizabeth would welcome a trading mission that resulted in Atlantis being able to open its own bar and nightclub.

Still, it was rude to turn up one's nose at the culture of another and a day of sampling drinks was a whole lot better than having to sample boiled sheep head. Which he'd done. Not that most of the sheep tasted bad, it was just strange eating food while the food's shriveled, cooked eyeball stared back.

A day of carousing with the villagers sapped the team's determination to walk five miles back to the stargate in the dark of night. The villagers seemed a tad iffy about having the team stay within the confines of the village. When they'd been sitting in the bar, a long dead piece of Ancient tech had lit up in Sheppard's presence and there had been a collective silence. The villagers were still polite but abruptly there were no spare rooms at the inn, and a tradition of not allowing drunken strangers into your home had popped up out of nowhere. Still, it seemed sensible to Sheppard, who was a little tipsy by that stage. Someone had kept spiking his non-alcoholic drink despite his best efforts. The villagers vouchsafed the idea of camping on the outskirts of town, confirming that there were no predators in the woods and the team decided they could go back through the stargate in the morning.

Seemed like a rational idea at the time. Last night they had been in sleeping bags by a fire on a clear summer's night.

Today he wasn't.

He picked himself off the ground. He was sore. Tired. Achy. Ravenously hungry. But not in the sort of intense pain that indicated he'd been injured. He risked calling out to his team mates.

"Hey! Anyone out there?" The shout he'd intended came out as a rough croak, like he hadn't talked in a while.

He tried again but there was no answer. Just the wind rustling through the trees. The raucous sounds of birds waking up.

He searched in his vest pockets. Still had his GDO. Okay, that was good.

There wasn't much he could do. Just make for the stargate, raise the alarm and hope that he could bring back another SG team for a SAR mission.

((--))

"It's Colonel Sheppard's IDC!"

That got everyone's attention. Rodney perked up, so did Elizabeth.

"Drop the shield." She didn't care if it was an ambush, didn't care it was a trap. It was the first inkling they'd had that Sheppard was alive.

There was no hesitation. The shield dropped, the wormhole flung itself into life, the event horizon shining like a pool of water and after a few seconds, Colonel John Sheppard, MIA for the past two weeks stepped into the Gate Room.

He looked like he always did. It surprised her. She was expecting the worse. He caught her eye and she was racing down the steps towards him.

"John! Are you okay?"

He seemed confused by her reaction. "Yeah, but the team isn't. I don't know what the hell happened but they're gone. I'm going to need Lorne's team to go back through the 'gate with me."

He was walking and heading towards the door out of the Gate Room as he talked. "Get them to meet me here. I'm going down to the Armory."

She put a hand on his arm to slow him down. He jerked away.

"I don't understand what you mean. They're all here," she said.

"What do you mean 'they're all here'? If this is some kind of joke I'm going to be seriously pissed off."

He stopped and sensed from her serious expression that she wasn't kidding. Not one bit. Especially when Rodney joined them.

"Okay, what the fuck is going on?" He pointed to Rodney. "We were waiting to walk back to the stargate. I went to sleep, Ronon was supposed to be standing guard and then I wake up and you've all disappeared."

Rodney shook his head. "No, we woke up and you were gone. Ronon and Teyla were out cold. We've been looking for you for two weeks."

"What?"

"I said we've been looking for you for two weeks."

She saw him blink, try to process the information. She tapped her radio control.

"Carson, we need a med team to the Gate Room."

Sheppard whirled on her. "I do not need a med team. What I need is an explanation."

"Rodney's pretty much summed it up. You vanished. We had a team scouring the area for a full week and they didn't turn up a thing. The villagers claimed to have seen nothing."

"Riiighht. Okay, I don't know what's going on here but you'd think I'd remember a little thing like being gone for two weeks." Elizabeth watched as Sheppard shifted his weight from foot to foot, his hand reaching for the comfort of his Glock but finding nothing. It was an automatic gesture borne of uncertainty.

Their attention was distracted by Carson and his team hitting the room with a gurney. The doctor took one look at his potential patient and came to a complete stop. Then he smiled.

"Colonel! Good to have you back."

Sheppard did not return the smile. "So everyone keeps telling me."

Beckett snapped back into medical mode; put a hand on Sheppard's upper arm.

"How are you feeling? Any pain? Headache?"

"I'm fine." He shook off Beckett's hand.

"Do you know where you are?"

"Atlantis."

"Do you know what day it is?"

Weir saw Sheppard hesitate and knew that he didn't have a clue what day it was. By his expression she guessed he was mentally trying to figure it out by adding on fourteen days to the last time he remembered anything.

"I'll take that as a no," said Beckett before Sheppard had a chance to reply.

"I'm fine," said Sheppard again but he sounded uncertain.

"Let me be the judge of that. Jump up on the gurney and we'll go for a ride."

"I can walk."

"Yes, you probably can, but I'm going to be happier if we give you the star treatment back to the infirmary."

Sheppard let out a sigh. Elizabeth tried to be reassuring.

"Hey, let Carson have his way. He'll check you out and then we can try and figure out what's going on. Okay?"

He hesitated before replying. "I'm doing this under protest."

Beckett patted the gurney and Sheppard easily got himself seated, swung his feet around and lay against the propped up back.

"This is stupid."

"Probably, but better safe than sorry. If it'll make you feel more macho, we'll run so everyone thinks it's an emergency." Beckett was trying for humor. He didn't get a response.

It was then that Beckett glanced at her, raised his eyebrow. It was an unspoken confirmation of their agreed upon approach. She nodded and that was all that was needed and luckily, Sheppard hadn't picked up on their subtle exchange.

They left the Gate Room, Sheppard bitching all the way out that his day just kept going downhill.

Elizabeth watched them leave, a cold feeling running down the skin of her back. She shivered. Whatever had happened, it wasn't good and that meant there were going to be causalities. That was the way the Pegasus galaxy worked. It seemed to like collectively punishing them, presumably because they'd made Atlantis their home. Or at least, that was her private theory, one that she wasn't going to share with anyone else.

Rodney interrupted her thoughts. "Two weeks is a long time. Anything could have happened. He could have given away the position of Atlantis. Or Earth."

"Colonel Sheppard is tough. I'm confident that no matter what happened, he protected Atlantis."

"But that's the problem, isn't it? We don't know what happened, we don't know where the hell he was. We don't know a damn thing. He clearly hasn't got a clue. I don't know about you, but I hate mysteries."

Elizabeth didn't answer because, right now, she was in total agreement with Rodney McKay.

((--))

Beckett and two nurses swung the gurney into the private room they'd built for Michael. He wanted to give Sheppard some privacy because he had the feeling the next few hours were going to be grueling for both of them. He had a patient who appeared to have experienced anterograde amnesia and his first thought was the use of sedation or anesthesia. Judging by the Colonel's responses in the Gate Room and on the way to the infirmary, he was definitely missing memories but seemed coherent and that seemed to indicate no head trauma. For the most part he seemed to be in good shape physically. Beckett had been quizzing him since they'd rolled out of the Gate Room and down the corridors towards the infirmary and unless the Colonel was lying his head off about any injuries, Carson was reasonably assured that there was no immediate medical crisis to deal with. A more thorough exam would confirm it.

He hit the comms channel on his radio as he parked the gurney. "Dr. Biro, please join me in the infirmary. The prodigal son has returned."

Sheppard instantly got off, stood up. He was clearly agitated by the events and Beckett didn't blame him.

"As far as I can tell, I'm alive," said Sheppard. "Any reason you're inviting a pathologist along?"

There was no use in lying about any of this. Beckett took a deep breath.

"It was an agreed upon approach between Elizabeth, Colonel Caldwell – on behalf of SGC - and Rodney. A new set of security protocols."

"Security protocols. What kind of security protocols?"

Beckett tried maneuvering Sheppard back onto the gurney, but he was having none of it.

"You've been missing for two weeks, Colonel. With the new security protocols, we think it's prudent to, ah, gather as much physical evidence as possible to determine the next course of action."

They were interrupted by the arrival of Biro, eagerly carrying a large case. She plunked the case on the nearest empty bench, smiled in a way that said she liked her job far too much.

"Good to have you back in one piece, Colonel." She smiled again and Sheppard felt an instinctive need to back up. He wasn't keen on the concept of letting a woman with more than a working knowledge of the Y incision anywhere near him. She snapped on a pair of gloves, opened up her case. Sheppard got a glimpse of paper bags, plastic bags, tubes, forceps, more paper, and some utility sheers.

Carson tried to get Sheppard to sit down but he wouldn't and now his arms were crossed, clearly indicating that he wanted some answers.

"Dr. Biro is here because she's the only one with experience in forensic examinations."

"What the fuck is this, _CSI: Pegasus Galaxy_?"

"Look, I understand you're upset but think about it this way. If we can get soil, fiber, or whatever, we might just be able to figure out what happened to you and just as importantly, if Atlantis has been compromised."

Sheppard sighed, his shoulders sagged. He wasn't one to deny the logic of what Carson and Biro were trying to accomplish. "Okay. Yeah, I guess. I mean, I don't know what the hell I could have said or done."

"We're going to use whatever we can to track down whoever did this."

Sheppard nodded slowly, more than aware that he was giving Carson his tacit consent to proceed. "Let's get this over with."

Biro spread a paper sheet on the floor, grabbed Sheppard by the shoulders and started trying to place him into position. Sheppard resisted, seemed to hate the fact that she was touching him, tried to pull back. Clearly she wasn't used to her charges being conscious.

Beckett shook head in a 'not now' gesture. "I was going to give him a physical exam first."

"And that means he'll have to take off his clothes. Might as well do it straight away. Less chance of contaminating any potential fibers." From her tone, it was clear that Carson was all ready proving to be the least useful member of the team. His empathetic side was definitely winning over the need to collect as much evidence as possible. He got out of the way as she grabbed Sheppard again, guided him back onto the paper. Gestured to the two nurses. Richard Marks and Marcy Bukowitz. Marcy had been on Beckett's staff for over a year, but Richard had just shipped in on the Daedalus. It was his first taste of a medical emergency on Atlantis. Still, Carson never accepted any staff who he felt couldn't handle the unique pressures of working in a galaxy capable of creating weird mutated bugs and aliens that lived by sucking the life out of humans. More importantly, Marcy was certified in forensic nursing before she arrived, and Richard had easily picked up the training.

It had left Beckett conflicted. He was pleased he had a team prepared for Sheppard's eventual return, just in case. But he was appalled at the thought of having to use the team and what they might find.

Biro said, "Everyone know what to do?"

Sheppard held up his hand. "I don't." The response was all sarcasm.

"Sorry, I was a little distracted there." Biro tried for conversation. "Anyway, the first procedure is to make sure we catch anything I can use in the lab for analysis. If you start taking everything off and handing them to Marcy and Richard, they're going to put the clothes into paper bags and label them. It's not going to take long at all."

Sheppard acquiesced and undid his boots. Handed them over, one at a time, to Richard and Marcy. Then his socks. Biro stared at his feet. Carson bent down to Biro's eye line, got a sight of feet that had been doing more than walking five miles through mild terrain to a stargate.

"Can you lift a foot for me, Colonel?"

Sheppard did as he was told and Carson noted cuts and bruising to the soles of the feet, and dirt. There also appeared to be ulcers on the backs of both of his heels. Carson couldn't believe that Sheppard wasn't feeling any pain. Judging by the state of his feet it indicated a hard fought race over rough ground in bare feet.

"Huh. I don't remember how that happened."

"Not to worry. We'll fix them up in a few minutes." Carson was trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible. He had the unsettled feeling that the damage to the feet was just the start of it. Noticing that Sheppard was still staring at his own feet, a frown on his face, Carson went for distraction.

"Let's have the rest of your things."

Sheppard took off his jacket, handed it to Marcy. Underneath the jacket he'd worn a t-shirt. It was then that everyone simultaneously noticed the deep abrasions wrapped around Sheppard's wrists. They stopped what they were doing. Sheppard held up his wrists, looked in amazement at the marks.

"When did this happen?"

Beckett shook his head, trying to keep his tone light. "I don't know. Why don't you finish undressing and I can take care of those for you."

Sheppard seemed to be too distracted to do as he was told, instead he gaped some more at his wrists, seemingly fascinated by the new twist in his situation. To Beckett's irritation, Biro took out her digital camera.

"For God's sake Biro, we're not going to be taking the bloody evidence to court."

She gave him a filthy look. "No but we might want to reference them later."

"You can do that after I've examined him and treated the wounds."

"Don't fight over me kids. There's plenty to go around."

Carson mentally berated himself. He was losing his cool under pressure and the last thing Sheppard needed was for Biro and himself to openly disagree during an exam. It was highly unprofessional of him.

"Sorry, Colonel."

"Carson, it's okay. Don't stress on me."

"You don't feel any pain in your wrists?"

"A little but nothing much. I just figured I had bruising."

"Any other aches and pains you haven't mentioned?"

"Yeah, but nothing bad. My ankles. My lower back."

Biro broke in before Carson ruined her collection scene. "You can have him in two minutes. Colonel, if you could just keep going, we're almost done."

Sheppard nodded, pulled off his t-shirt, handed that over. Richard thoughtfully gave Sheppard a hospital gown and helped Sheppard get himself suitably covered up so that he could remove the remaining items of clothing.

The pants came off next and revealed the same circular abrasions looping around both of Sheppard's ankles. They seemed to fascinate him as equally as the marks around his wrists.

"This is weird." Sheppard watched them pack his clothes, stood on one foot so he could lift up the other and look at the marks. "I don't remember any of this."

Carson was beginning to get concerned. Sheppard was repeating the same phrase in a way that indicated he was having difficulty processing the experience.

Biro stood, waiting patiently. "Last item. I need the underwear."

Sheppard stopped staring at his ankles and feet. "I bet you say that to all the guys, Biro."

"Not really. The ones I deal with are usually dead, so I just cut them off."

"There'll be no cutting off of my underwear by you, or anyone else."

Sheppard reached under the gown, stripped off the last piece of clothing from his body. Handed them over to Biro with an evil grin.

"You'd better hope someone was in charge of doing my laundry."

Biro waved a latex encased hand at him as she took the proffered boxer briefs. "Why do you think I wear these?" She went to place the item in a paper bag, Carson noticing that she hesitated as she got a glimpse of the waistband. She turned back swiftly to Beckett with a completely false smile plastered on her face.

"You'd better get to that physical exam. I'll mark up the trauma diagram as you work."

He nodded, moved Sheppard back off the paper and finally got a chance to get the man off his feet and onto the gurney. As Sheppard sat down, Marcy and Biro carefully began folding up the paper that he'd been standing on.

"Are you feeling any more pain, Colonel?"

"No, not really. Just aches a little. I've had worse."

Carson frowned. "Hmmmm."

"I hate it when you say 'hmmmmm'. What's up?"

"You have a ridiculously high pain threshold but that doesn't mean you don't feel pain at all. It just means you tend to ignore it."

"And?"

"And I'm wondering why you're not feeling more than you are." Carson shrugged, put that thought on the back burner. "First things first though. I want to do a neurological status check."

"You did one of those on the way over."

"Humor me with another one. If you seem okay, that means we can forgo a scan." Beckett took his pen light out of his pocket.

Sheppard complied. Beckett held up a forefinger.

"How many?"

"You're holding up just the one, Carson. Are you sure you don't want to try this test with your index finger?"

"My mother raised me to be polite, Colonel."

"Explains why you never joined the military then."

"Follow…" Carson moved his finger to the left and right, checked that Sheppard's eyes were tracking correctly.

"Focus on the wall."

Beckett checked the pupil response as he had Sheppard refocus on his finger. Then dimmed the lights in the room and shone the penlight into each eye, checking for pupil contraction response. Normal and reactive in both eyes. He moved his hand over the skull, checking for any obvious signs of contusion or cuts and got nothing.

Beckett held out his forefinger again.

"Squeeze."

Sheppard smiled despite it all. "I'm waiting on the day you say 'pull my finger'."

"Never going to happen but you can dream."

Beckett had learnt several years ago never to offer his entire hand for a strength test because some testosterone charged marine with a point to prove had thought it was funny to try and crush his metacarpals. He watched as Sheppard squeezed and winced slightly for some reason.

"That hurt?"

"No, just a twinge."

Sheppard knew what Beckett was going to ask so repeated the procedure with his right hand. Beckett nodded approvingly. Strength was bilaterally equal. Verbal responses were appropriate, no sign of double-vision, no signs of motor problems or behavioral changes.

"What's the verdict?"

"At this stage, you're good. Let's make sure there's nothing else wrong and then clean up those wounds."

Biro was hovering. She put the clipboard down, the one with the trauma diagram on it, went and fetched another piece of equipment out of her casing of tricks.

Carson got out his blood pressure cuff, smiled as reassuringly as possible, patted Sheppard's arm, nearly missed the small wince from Sheppard at the touch. He hurriedly grabbed his stethoscope and put the cuff on, pumped it up and was relieved to find the systolic sitting at 120 and the diastolic at 80. Normal for most people and on the high side for Sheppard, but at least it implied there wasn't any internal bleeding to worry about. He took a pulse. A little fast but not abnormal. Easily chalked up to the stress.

He turned his attention to the lungs, listened carefully for any crackles, or rales. Everything seemed clear. He checked the reading on the ear thermometer. A little elevated, around ninety-nine Fahrenheit but temperatures fluctuated wildly over the course of a day and with the amount of physical activity and stress, so again, he wasn't overly concerned. Regular monitoring over the next twenty-four hours would tell him more.

"So far, so good."

"Great. At least I have one decent piece of news in this otherwise lousy day," said Sheppard.

Biro was hovering again, clutching something that looked like a cross between a dust buster and a camera, a pair of tinted orange glasses on her face. "Just wanted to run the omnichrome over you using the UV filter. It's completely painless."

Carson turned to her. He'd thought the forensic collection was a sound idea at the time, but he was running out of patience. "Can I get my blood samples now?"

"Give me a minute. We do the skin check, and he's all yours. I can do the nail scrapings while you set up. Richard, can you get the lights?"

The room went dark and the light from the omnichrome was a bright blue. Biro began down at Sheppard's feet and started to work her way up with the light. Carson stuck his hands in his pockets, trying to remember that Elizabeth had ordered it, that it was for the best, and feeling useless. He glanced down at Sheppard, noted the blank expression on the man's face, and didn't blame him for adopting a posture of total non involvement. Still, this amount of disengagement wasn't a good sign.

"You okay, Colonel?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Carson watched as Sheppard closed his eyes and he pretended to be somewhere else.

((--))

Rodney McKay was not the calmest person in the Milky Way or the Pegasus galaxy. In fact, his behavior at times was so problematic that he had his own chapter in several books that carried titles such as, _How to Get Along with Difficult People_.

When he'd woken up on the planet, tucked in his sleeping back and feeling like he'd been parked on rocks the entire night, his initial thoughts had been around how pleasant it was not to be chased, shot at, stunned, kidnapped, tied up, threatened or tortured. Those thoughts didn't make up for his back but it did mean he could probably tolerate the discomfort until he made it back to his quarters and could stand under a hot shower for half an hour.

The only reason he'd managed to wake up was that he needed to take a leak and it was then he noticed it was broad daylight and that Ronon was also asleep, propped against a tree and that Sheppard was missing.

At first he hadn't been concerned. Sheppard was probably missing because he was answering his own call of nature. The Satedan sleeping was a different matter. It was his turn to be on watch and he wondered why Sheppard had let him remain asleep. Sheppard was a laid back guy for the most part but he didn't stand for people not pulling their share of the work. Then again, the planet, so far, had been as non threatening as they came. Maybe the team leader has just figured they could all do with a break.

Rodney waited for about ten minutes, not really wanting to encounter Sheppard during his search for a tree that he could pee against. He waited another five minutes and then he started worrying. Another five minutes and he was struggling out of his sleeping bag, almost tripping over a slumbering Teyla and heading towards Ronon.

"Hey, sleepy head. Wakey, wakey!"

To his increasing alarm, Ronon did not move. Ronon had the reflexes and hearing of a cat. He'd been known to wake up if Rodney turned over in his sleep, let alone Rodney yelling at him.

Rodney crossed to the tree, put a hand on Ronon's shoulders and shook him. Hard. That seemed to do the trick and the Satedan blearily opened his eyes.

"McKay, you'd better have a good reason for touching me."

Rodney removed his hand, suddenly worried about getting punched.

"Sheppard is missing."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean he's missing. Gone away. Doesn't appear to have come back. Absent. Not here."

The news seemed to snap Ronon back to a state of full alert. He quickly got to his feet and headed for the empty sleeping bag. He crouched down, checking the area.

Rodney always wondered whether Ronon actually knew what he was searching for, or whether he just did the whole crouching and tracking prognostication for show.

"Any ideas, Tonto?"

Ronon scowled, didn't answer. Instead slipped a hand inside the sleeping bag.

"He's been gone for a while. Sleeping bag is cold."

"I could have told you that."

The taller man stood up, walked around the area, carefully peering at the ground.

"No signs of a struggle, but someone's definitely been here. Possibly more than one."

"Great. Fantastic. We know he's been kidnapped. No surprises there. I could have told you that too."

Ronon appeared to be ignoring him because he didn't reply. He walked a few meters towards the forest, seemingly following footprints that Rodney couldn't make out no matter how intently he looked at the ground. Ronon abruptly stopped.

"I've lost them. They must have gone in there." He pointed at the forest and began running determinedly towards the thick clutch of trees.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Rodney ran after the warrior, managed to only just catch-up before taking a chance and once more grabbing an arm.

"What?" Ronon's eye line was firmly on Rodney's hand and he was making it clear that Rodney was five seconds away from getting pounded.

Rodney snatched his hand away and then shoved them into his pockets. "Look, we don't even know what we're dealing with. Or how many. Doesn't it make sense to get some reinforcements from Atlantis and then go and look for Sheppard? Preferably with a wide range of weapons?"

Ronon took a deep breath, seemed to consider McKay's idea. "I hate to say this but I think you're right."

Rodney nearly fell over from the shock. Rodney was right when it came to equations and calculations and science based solutions but he was never right when it came to tactical decisions.

"Me? Right? Really?"

"Yeah, don't let it go to your head. Let's get Teyla and head back."

Ronon turned back from the forest, took two steps forward and fell face first into the dirt, out cold.

Total and utter panic set in.

"Shit! Shit! Shit! Crap!"

It occurred to him to check for a pulse, which he did and he found the Satedan very much alive. He rolled the big guy over, no small effort, and then ran back to fetch Teyla.

Also unconscious.

McKay started yelling again. "Shit! Shit! Shit!"

He was still cursing up a storm when he came back through the stargate and alerted Elizabeth to the fact that SGA-1 was in big trouble. And as he sat in his lab, and waited for Carson to complete the exam, he wasn't doing any better. His mother would be shocked if she could hear how badly his language had deteriorated while he'd been stuck on Atlantis.

Personally he blamed Sheppard and the marines. Potty mouths, every one of them.

He slammed the side of his laptop. He'd been part of the team that tried to find Sheppard and he was part of the team that failed to find Sheppard. It had driven him crazy because failure always drove him crazy.

"Shit."

If anything bad had happened to Sheppard, McKay was never going to forgive himself.

((--))

Sheppard was very good at going to places in his head when needed. Right now he was lifting off from McMurdo and flying over the pack ice, the last of the autumn days signaling the return of the Emperor penguins.

When he wasn't playing taxi driver to the various brass and science teams flying into the so-called research post he wasn't supposed to ask about, he was also tagged to airlift the biologists to the penguin colonies while they still had weather that let the helicopters fly.

Being able to help out the biologists was something he got a kick out of. Mainly because the biologists loved the penguins to the point of obsession and were happy to answer questions and let anyone else expressing an interest hang out.

Theoretically he was supposed to drop the biologists off and then pick them up a couple of days later but rather conveniently he experienced the odd problem with radio communications and the rotor blades temporarily freezing up. He also had an advantage created by his fall from grace and his banishment to the South Pole. No one cared much what he did as long as he did what he was told and kept out of the way.

That meant he could spend a couple of hours wrapped in the winter gear he kept stowed in the back of his helicopter, standing on the ice and watching the penguins waddling their determined way across the terrain.

Had to admire them. Talk about drawing the short end of the evolutionary straw. There was no other species on Earth trying to breed and raise chicks in negative sixty Celsius.

The day he'd helped one of the biologists catch a penguin for marking was one of the best days of his life.

Light abruptly filled the room. Seemed Biro had finished running over every inch of his skin with the magical blue UV light. His skin was clean but she'd picked up a small needle mark on his right arm, and some bruising under the skin around his shoulders that hadn't made itself known.

There was also the other matter that they'd discovered when he'd been rolled onto his side.

Carson had taken a look and Sheppard could tell by the way he'd put his voice into an even more hearty version of, "Well, you've got a wee bit of a problem" that it wasn't good. Seemed a characteristic of all doctors – the more cheerful they became, the worse the news was. Therein followed a long explanation of the fact that he had a stage three pressure ulcer over the sacral area, and Sheppard had eventually worked out meant they were talking about the bony part of his lower back. At that stage he was just grateful they weren't telling him that he had an ulcerated wound on his butt or anything else more sinister.

"That confirms that the wounds on the back of your heels are also ulcers."

"Well, that's nice to know."

Carson patted his arm again. Sheppard just wished Carson would stop touching him because it was starting to creep him out.

"Marcy, setup a 16-gauge peripheral IV line for me. Richard, get me a CBC, Chem-7, and a tox screen. Swab the ulcers for bacteria. Oh, and before I forget, run a blood sample down to the lab for sequencing."

It was clear to Sheppard that Carson had assumed control. Biro was standing off to one side with a trauma diagram, noting down the wound sites with red pen. It was like she was drawing in a coloring book for grown-ups and Sheppard did his best to ignore her and the way she was creating red circles around the ankles and wrists of the generic picture of a human. She put down the diagram while Marcy and Richard started on him and he caught her coming back with more tools. Looked like a nail file or something, but of course, it wasn't.

"I'm just going to do a nail scrapping and that's it…" Her voice had changed. Even Biro could sense how much the tension had ratcheted up since the whole situation had begun.

He sincerely hoped that everyone would go away, but both Marcy and Richard were each trying to find a vein. Marcy in the back of his left hand, and Richard in the crook of his right arm. Beckett was methodically cleaning the wound on his left ankle and he found himself wanting to do nothing more than hit them and make them go away.

He bit his bottom lip. An action not unnoticed by Carson.

"You're doing fine, Colonel. Not much longer to go."

It was then that everything hit him at once. He'd been feeling sore but now it seemed to ramp up, and he ached, ached like he'd been swimming in ice cold water and his body was trying to warm up. The ulcer on his lower back hurt like hell, his feet hurt, everything throbbed and protested and on top of it all, the hunger he'd been able to ignore was back. He made himself ride it out until Richard and Marcy finished and then he twisted abruptly, trying to shift himself into a more comfortable position, yanking his foot from Carson but Carson was fast and held on.

Carson stopped cleaning the abrasions on his ankle. "You starting to feel this?"

"Yeah. Kind of."

Carson just shot him a look. "Typical. You're the grand master of understatement. I just want to wait until I get the tox screen back before I give you anything. Until then, can you just bare with me?"

"Sure." He opted to distract himself by going back to the ice. They could do whatever they wanted to do because mentally… he was leaving.

((--))


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Elizabeth had trained herself as a diplomat to wait. Waiting was everything. Waiting for the response from the translator, waiting for the response from an Ambassador, waiting for the unofficial response, then waiting for the official response. She'd spent most of her life hiding her emotions and practicing her poker face.

It was a skill that had served her well in Atlantis. The only thing she could do in most situations was to prepare as thoroughly as possible and wait for the cards to fall in whatever way the Fates decreed.

Today, she didn't want to wait and her patience had deserted her. She had to will herself to remain at her desk and not demand a report from Carson. Carson had made it clear that he would report to her when he was good and ready and that he did not want her, or Sheppard's team, in the infirmary. He'd understood the need to determine what had happened to Sheppard, and if it posed a threat to Atlantis but he'd been equally adamant that he expected to be left in peace and that the entire examination would be conducted in privacy. In fact, the medical information would only be shared with Elizabeth, if at all.

Rodney hadn't taken kindly to the order and had gone to his lab to sulk. Teyla had been disappointed but seemed to understand. Ronon had decided to run off his excess energy.

So now, here she was. Waiting. She tried to do paperwork. She tapped a pencil against her desk. Stared at a piece of pottery. Sent a prayer to the universe.

"Elizabeth?"

She looked up. Carson was in her office. He appeared subdued.

"How is he?"

Carson keyed her door shut. He sat down in a chair. "Before we begin, I'd just like to register my official concern with the security protocols."

"That bad?"

"Yes - and no. Elizabeth, I know we agreed on the new procedure, and I can see the need for it, but I don't exactly enjoy potentially traumatizing my patients all over again."

She was instantly alert at that statement. "What happened?"

He held up his hands, signaled for her to calm down. "I'm probably just overreacting. I just think that maybe we could have implemented it better, or practiced more."

Elizabeth got out from behind her desk, forgoing the usual barrier between herself and whoever was visiting, and went around to sit in the spare chair beside him.

"Carson, the reason you're on this mission is because you're a brilliant doctor, a geneticist, and more importantly, you care about your patients. I'd think something was wrong if you weren't in here protesting. But we put the protocol in place for this very reason. If someone comes back too injured to talk we have a method for trying to determine what happened to them."

The doctor sighed, nodded once. "Aye. You're right. I just don't like it."

"And you don't have to like it. You just have to do it."

She got up, went back behind the desk. There wasn't much he could say to her response and she noticed that he seemed to have decided not to push her any more. Instead, he changed back to the main topic of conversation.

"Colonel Sheppard's still in the infirmary. I've got Richard and Marcy finishing up for me."

"And?"

Carson tapped on his laptop with his stylus, reviewed his notes.

"If we're very lucky, he'll never remember a thing, and I'd prefer it that way."

"Because?"

"Whatever happened, he was restrained for an excessive amount of time in the same position. He may have escaped once – the bruising and cuts on the feet seem to indicate that but I can't sure. The memory loss could be assigned to anything. Probably sedation."

"We need to get Kate involved."

"No arguments there but this is a delicate situation. It might be better to leave well enough alone."

"You can't tell me you don't want him to remember what happened?"

"Given a choice, if you suspected you'd been a victim, would you want to remember everything in excruciating detail, or prefer to remain in ignorance?"

She honestly didn't know but she gave the answer she thought would argue her case more strongly. "I'd want to remember of course."

"I doubt that. I doubt that very much."

There was no reply to Carson's adamant response. A response that said he'd seen too many people confronting the same issue for his concern to be purely academic.

((--))

He was lying on his left side, Richard concentrating on dressing the ulcer on his back and Marcy was working on his feet. He was still hungry. His wrists and ankles were bandaged and Marcy had injected copious amounts of lidocaine into the cuts on his feet, began stitching and then she'd moved onto the ulcers. Richard had smeared the ulcer on his back with a numbing agent but that didn't take away the hurt from everywhere else. Sheppard wished the results of the blood tests would come back because apparently after the results were back, he could eat. If he could eat, it would stop the feeling that his stomach was trying to digest itself.

They were both trying their best to explain everything to him, but he couldn't concentrate anyway.

Richard had washed the ulcer out with saline, did an initial sharp debridement that involved picking out any clearly necrotic material – something he'd had to grit his teeth to get through. Then Richard has said something about autolytic debridement for the rest of the treatment process if the test results were okay. Carson had ordered a swab for a bacterial culture before they'd started. Marcy was bandaging his feet. He didn't really care.

Richard finished, putting a gel sealant over the wound and then attaching gauze before pushing back his stool and pulling the warming blanket up around Sheppard's shoulders.

Sheppard was about five minutes away from getting up and leaving and he didn't care how much it hurt to get back to his quarters.

Marcy cleaned up her tray, putting the used sharps into the biohazard container. Richard came around to sit in Sheppard's line of sight.

Sheppard asked the question he'd become obsessed with. "When's Carson coming back?"

Richard smiled his patented health professional smile. "He can't be too far away. How are you holding up?"

"I'm good," he lied. He didn't even know why he was lying. Probably because he couldn't stand anyone else checking him out like a side of beef.

The man in question breezed back into the room, looking slightly harassed. He rapidly composed himself and Richard vacated the stool, went to help Marcy clean up.

"Good news, Colonel. Just got your test results back and everything looks normal."

"Does that mean I can eat something?"

"Yes, and it means I can give you something to take the edge off the pain if you want."

"Yes, I want."

Carson read through his notes. "There's no nice way to put this. You're going to have to stay in the infirmary for a while."

He pulled a face. "Define the term, 'a while'".

"We're going to have to keep you off your feet until the cuts heal and I can remove the sutures. That's around ten days, maybe less. As an added bonus those pressure sores are going to be difficult to manage and you're going to need regular wound care for a minimum of four weeks. Normally I'd release you back to your quarters but the fact is, you need to be lying on a proper foam mattress, with your feet elevated as much as possible, not to mention trying to minimize the pressure on your back."

Sheppard shrugged. He didn't care. He was caring less as time wore on. Bring on the food. Bring on sleep. Bring on whatever it was that Carson was going to give him. Personally, being able to spend a few hours without awareness was beginning to hold a lot of appeal. He seriously regretted waking up on that stupid planet.

He closed his eyes because Carson was giving him a strange look, like he'd been expecting the usual rounds of protest. He heard Carson ordering someone around.

"Go down to the cafeteria and see what they're serving."

"Anything in particular?" A woman's voice. It was Marcy.

"Protein. If there's nothing suitable try and get the cooks to rustle something up."

"I'll be back as soon as I can."

He listened with detached interest, idly watched the weird light show that always happened when you attempted to watch the back of your own eyelids.

"Richard, can you go and get the ibuprofen with the codeine out of the meds cabinet for me?"

"Sure."

Okay, so the nurses had been banished for whatever reason. Maybe he was dying or something. That would be a great joke ending for the day. Hey, Sheppard, by the way – you're dying.

"Are you asleep, Colonel?"

"No."

There was a pause, as if Carson was wondering what to say next but Sheppard didn't bother to open his eyes. In the darkness he remembered playing hide and seek when he was four. Close your eyes. Count. Open your eyes and try and find where your friend was hiding. Unless of course, it was in the basement. He never did like the basement. It was large, and it was dark and he was sure monsters lurked down there, in the same way he was sure that monsters lurked under his bed.

"Today has been crap," said Carson.

He wanted to laugh. Every so often Carson was prone to summing up a situation in just one word. Crap. He opened his eyes, regarded the way Beckett had himself perched back on the stool, worry etched all over his face.

"Keep frowning like that and we'll have to request SGC send us a plastic surgeon."

"Don't worry, Colonel. I've resigned myself to looking like my father when I hit fifty-five. It's not going to be pretty. Still, I'm sure I could convince Biro to give me a shot of Botox if I get desperate."

Sheppard snorted. Started to roll onto his back, winced, changed his mind. It occurred to him that it was going to be hard to find a comfortable way to sleep or sit down for at least a month.

"What did you say to Elizabeth?" He was curious to know. Undoubtedly he was off duty for a while, but it would be interesting to see what else Carson had thought it was necessary to share.

"There wasn't much to tell. We make sure you heal up. You stick around Atlantis and do paperwork."

He pulled a face. "Paperwork. Not my most favorite work related activity." He pondered another question that had been bugging him. He needed to check it out. "Did you recommend I go and see Kate?"

"Elizabeth requested it."

"I don't blame her."

"Quite frankly, I think Kate can wait a few days until you're feeling more settled."

"Oh no, I'm really heart broken."

Carson managed a small smile. "I'm sorry about the exam. Upon reflection I'm not entirely comfortable that I agreed."

"That's what this is all about? You're apologizing for something that you needed to do to ensure the safety of Atlantis?"

Carson shrugged. "I felt it needed to be said."

"Carson, sometimes you freak out over all the wrong things."

"So Rodney and Lorne keep telling me."

Silence came back again. Just for a visit. It sat itself down in the middle of the room, and brought its sidekick – awkwardness – with it. Sheppard shifted his arm and managed to prop himself up onto his left elbow, and that was slightly better than lying on the pillow. Lying flat didn't seem to hold any appeal.

"What do we do now? I don't know about you, but I'm getting a little bored."

"We wait for your order to arrive. Then you eat. Then we work on getting you a decent mattress, and some foot pillows. I imagine after that you'll be out like a light. Failing that I can always get a laptop in here and you can play a game of _Half Life 2_ on the network with Rodney. He'll be thrilled."

"I've never understood why a guy who's so hopeless at handling weapons in real life keeps smacking me over in the virtual world." Sheppard was genuine on that point. Rodney was a very good game player. If only he could apply the same First Person Shooter skills he seemed to naturally possess to the actual shooting of Wraith and other bad aliens.

"That's Rodney for you. Full of surprises."

The conversation ran short again and Sheppard began to have the idea that perhaps Carson was on babysitting duties. That would explain why he was still here.

"Doc, I'm a big boy. Feel free to go and hassle some other patient."

"I don't have any other patients at the moment. You're it."

"That explains the dedicated attention."

"I'm just making sure you don't disappear on us again." Carson seemed to honestly believe that.

"Like that's ever going to happen."

Thankfully it was at that point that Marcy arrived back with a tray, Richard in tow. She put the tray down on the cabinet beside the bed. He took a look at what was on the menu. Scrambled eggs. On toast. Fantastic.

Between Richard, Marcy and a terminally fussing Carson they managed to prop him up into a position where he wasn't in too much pain and could eat. That had involved raising his feet so that his ankles weren't resting on the bed and making sure his lower back wasn't resting against anything else and then sliding the tray across.

Carson grabbed a small plastic container of ibuprofen, shook out two pills. "It's the stuff you like. Mixed with 30 milligrams of codeine."

Sheppard took the two pills, washed them down with a glass of water. Everyone liked them. It was an analgesic that kicked in faster than standard aspirin or ibuprofen and wiped out nearly all standard pain. It was a post mission chaser that went down well after a thumping from some hostile aliens.

It was just a pity that Carson was so stingy about letting the military arm of Atlantis stash it in their rooms. Everyone had to visit Beckett and his infirmary just to get some aspirin for a headache. It was annoying.

It was even more annoying that after he'd finally managed get a mouthful of scrambled eggs and had chewed and swallowed, he abruptly broke out in a sweat. He had enough time to say, "I think something's wrong," before he got his previous wish about going back to sleep. The last thing he remembered was the sound of his fork hitting the plate.

((--))

Biro really loved Ancient technology. It allowed her to speed up her work and that meant she could devote more time to research. Not that she didn't mind autopsies but back on Earth she had assistants to help with the workload. They were the ones that did the Y incision, emptied the body cavity if there was excessive blood, and removed any organs she particularly needed to examine. They also did most of her paperwork. On Atlantis she didn't have any assistants, presumably because they didn't think she'd be swamped with customers.

That made her all the more grateful for the laboratory gear left behind. They'd discovered one of them was a DNA sequencer. It sped up the preparation work to separate out the DNA and produced a much cleaner and more detailed output than even the most modern dye terminator cycle sequencers back on Earth.

Mind you, right now, looking at the results, she wasn't so sure.

"This can't be right," she said to herself. As she was alone, no one disagreed with her. She'd been excited to find epithelials from the scrapings she'd taken from under Sheppard's fingernails. It appeared the Colonel had managed to accidentally, or deliberately, scratch one of his captives. They weren't great samples, but Ancient technology seemed to be very good at recovering samples that had begun to degrade. Or at least that's what she'd thought.

She checked the results again, shrugged and decided to rerun the test.

((--))

Rodney had decided that he was going slowly out of his mind. He needed to talk to someone before he took out all of his pent up energy on some unsuspecting lab technician and that someone was Kate Heightmeyer.

He'd been seeing her ever since he'd arrived on Atlantis – in between crises and off world missions – mainly due to the fact that it had been a prerequisite for going to Atlantis and it had been an order from both O'Neil and Weir. Apparently Kate was somehow going to keep him from having a total meltdown at some point and so far, she seemed to be doing just that. Of course, back in the early days, his game plan had been to see her for a few weeks and then get really, really busy and subtly avoid her for the rest of his life. It wasn't like Elizabeth could do anything about it anyway. He wasn't in the military and he didn't have to follow an order per se, but Elizabeth was technically his boss. He wondered if they could actually fire anyone on the Atlantis expedition. Considering he was still around, probably not.

Unfortunately his plan had been sunk by the fact that try as he might, he couldn't seem to outwit Kate. Nor could he shake her sense of calm, put her off, or drive her to despair. Kate Heightmeyer was doggedly determined when it came to her job and if that job entailed talking to Rodney McKay once a week, then by God, she'd do it.

After the first month she'd joked that she didn't know whether she should get Carson to prescribe him Ritalin or Xanax. He'd returned the compliment and said he didn't know whether he should get her some taste, because her office decorating sucked, or a typing course because he couldn't stand to watch her chicken peck her way across the keyboard any more.

Strangely that one exchange had somehow broken the ice and they'd both managed to gain a grudging respect for each other. That didn't mean Rodney was going to admit to being one of Heightmeyer's regulars. He still checked to make sure the immediate corridors were deserted before sneaking into her office and after bumping into Teyla that one time coming _out_ of her office, he made Kate open the door before he'd leave. Somehow, despite it all, he had to confess to himself that she'd actually helped him. Even when he'd had Cadman sneaking around in his brain and committing acts of atrocity that included running his unfit body around Atlantis, sleeping in the nude and kissing Carson. It had taken nearly a month before Carson had been capable of looking him in the eye and it had taken a month with Kate before Rodney had given up planning his revenge on Cadman in ways that involved diverting the sewage line into her bedroom.

He swung into her office, having checked on his radio that she was free. She'd replied, "When it comes to you Rodney, I've always got the time."

She was finishing up some paperwork on her laptop. Being forever paranoid, Rodney just assumed that they were probably notes on himself. God knows what his file looked like. It was probably half a meter thick by now.

He sat on the couch, twiddled his thumbs. "They found Sheppard."

"I know. Elizabeth told me."

He twiddled his thumbs some more. He couldn't think how to phrase what was on his mind. Kate didn't break into his thoughts, although he noticed that she did seem a teeny bit surprised that Rodney McKay was actually having a moment of silence.

"Do you think he's going to be okay?"

She sat forward in her chair. "I don't know. I haven't seen him yet."

He sighed. Made his thumbs circle each other with a forwards motion and then did the same action in reverse. "You wouldn't tell me anyway."

"Client confidentiality, Rodney. You know that."

"He seemed okay when he came through the stargate. Sort of."

She sat back in her chair, regarded him with a thoughtful expression on her face. "You're feeling guilty about something. You're always like this when you feel guilty."

Yeah, guilt was a great way to describe it. "I keep thinking that maybe if I'd woken up sooner - if I'd woken up, maybe I could have-"

He didn't get a chance to finish. Kate interrupted him. She did it out of necessity because letting Rodney finish his thoughts could occupy the entire hour.

"-Have what? Fought them off? Got the team back to the 'gate? Got out your tricorder and followed their warp signature?"

"Sarcasm. Always good coming from a psychologist."

"Rodney, if I tried being nice to you all of the time, you'd walk all over me."

He did manage to smile at that. "True. I'm not a big respecter of someone who can't hold their own in a conversation."

"What did you plan on doing if you'd somehow managed to wake up for the big event?"

"Something…"

"What?"

He pursed his lips together, irritated. "I don't exactly know."

She came over to the couch, sat down beside him. "You did everything you could. You raised the alarm, you helped get Teyla and Ronon back to Atlantis, you helped the SAR team, you went with Teyla and Ronon to interview the villagers. You were there every step of the way."

"It didn't help though, did it? We didn't find him. We failed. _I_ failed."

It was Kate's turn to sigh. He knew why she was sighing. They'd been down this particular mine field strewn path before.

"You didn't fail. You did your best and the outcome wouldn't have changed."

"You don't know that. You're not a freaking psychic."

She gave him a pat on the knee. "Rodney, failure is okay. That's just life. It happens. It's not an executable offence."

He shook his head. "I hate failing. I don't fail. I _can't _fail. People rely on me not to fail."

"I know that. But every so often it's going to happen. I know you don't want to hear it, but that's reality."

Great, now he was even more miserable. That's what came from being a genius with pushy parents. He was forever terminally afraid of disappointing people, afraid to try anything out of his comfort zone in case he fell flat on his face and hopelessly competitive with people he perceived could possibly make him look like an idiot.

He changed the subject back to Sheppard again. "You know, he'd better not die or go crazy or anything stupid, because he's about the only person who can tolerate me."

Kate gave him her supportive psychologist's smile. "Rodney, at this rate we're going to be seeing each other for a very long time."

((--))

He woke up with a start, and realized he was still in the infirmary, and he was lying on his right side instead of his left. An automated blood pressure cuff was on his left arm. He was hooked up to a cardiac monitor. He still had the IV catheter taped to the back of his hand, but thankfully no actual IV. There was a pulse oximeter on his finger. He wasn't fond of the cardiac monitor. It usually meant that some nurse would have entertained him or herself by shaving little patches in his chest hair before sticking on the electrode pads. It also meant he would end up having to pull the electrodes off in the shower, and they were a bitch to get off.

Richard was standing beside him, reading off the figures from the monitor. Noticed he was awake. "Glad to have you back."

"What happened?"

"You fainted. Let me comm Dr. Beckett and he'll explain it to you."

Carson was in the room so fast, Sheppard felt dizzy. Or maybe he really was dizzy.

"What's up Doc?" He'd decided on a different tact. He still didn't care, but if he let himself delve into self pity, he'd never get out. The best method was just to grin, bare it, and pretend it wasn't really as bad as he thought it was. It seemed appropriate to fake feeling okay by using the line that drove Carson endlessly crazy and could be used for the entire length of an infirmary stay.

Beckett made a face. "We are not doing that again. We agreed. No more torturing the nice doctor with quotes from _Looney Tunes_. Or _The Simpsons_. Or _Futurama_."

"Where's your sense of humor?"

"Having a holiday at the moment. It should be back tomorrow."

"I can go back to doing this tomorrow?"

"Would you like me to explain why you fainted?"

"I believe the term is: passed out."

Beckett let out a put upon groan. "If you keep this up, I'm violating patient confidentiality and telling Rodney."

Sheppard winced, but it wasn't from the pain. "You're not supposed to threaten your patients."

"My patients aren't supposed to drive me crazy." Carson had crossed his arms in a gesture that indicated he was moving towards a lowered tolerance for excessive jocularity from Sheppard.

"Okay, okay. Let's back to the passing out scenario." Sheppard signaled he would take the conversation seriously.

"You had what we like to call an episode of vasodepressor syncope. Basically in certain circumstances, people faint. Certain sights, smells. Hunger. Your blood pressure dropped rapidly but you recovered just as rapidly. No sign of any cardiac abnormalities I'd say it was a one off incident."

"After all that, you're telling me I fainted and you don't know why I fainted."

"No, I'm telling you that you fainted, and it was not unexpected, and that I don't think it will happen again."

"Thanks. Just what I wanted to hear."

Carson changed the subject. "Are you still hungry?"

"Yeah. Starved."

"We'll get you something else." Translation - Carson was going to order his nurse to get another plate of food. Richard didn't even have to be asked.

With Richard gone, Beckett occupied himself by checking out the chart again and Sheppard was kind of glad that Carson had been giving him a hard time. After a few rounds in the infirmary Carson had learnt that the best way of reassuring Sheppard was not to use a sympathetic, gentle manner. If Carson was giving him shit, it usually meant he was going to be okay.

Notes checked again, the doctor seemed at a loss for what he should do next.

"Carson. Seriously. Babysitting. Not cool."

"I just want to make sure you've got some company for the time being. When Richard is back, and you've eaten something, we're going to need to make the bed more comfortable."

"I'm more than happy to just lie here and while away the minutes before Nurse Richard brings me another round of scrambled eggs."

"You're sure?"

"You know, one day you're going to make a wonderful grandmother."

"That's enough out of you, Colonel." Beckett smiled when he said it, so Sheppard figured he hadn't been hugely insulted. Or maybe the doctor was just relieved that Sheppard seemed to have managed to be more like the Sheppard everyone expected.

He watched him go, tried to get comfortable for a few minutes. He wondered if he could take Carson up on the offer of a laptop. Or at least get a visitor. His team members would be good for a start. A few hours earlier and he thought they'd all been kidnapped, and it wouldn't hurt to put his mind at ease. He just had to convince Carson to let them into the room and clutter up the place.

He shifted again, trying to get comfortable but it wasn't going to be easy. What he really wanted to do was sit up, so he got his arm back under him, pushed himself up on one side, and then was able to roll over enough to sit up. He managed all of this without pulling off the leads. Unfortunately now that he was sitting up, he couldn't actually rest his back comfortably because the bed kept pushing into his lower back. He squirmed around again, and the back of his feet hurt and maybe he should lie down again, but he didn't want to. Lying down felt wrong. Like he couldn't breath, or something was doing the breathing for him and it was uncomfortable. He jerked a foot, almost by reflex, looked around the room, startled to think that he knew where he was – Atlantis – and yet the room didn't seem like it was _in_ Atlantis. It seemed that the room was somewhere else, and it was vaguely familiar and it wasn't in a good way.

His chest felt strange, like a band had tightened around his rib cage and he wasn't going to be able to get enough air, and his brain kept telling him that perhaps it would be a good time to get up and get out. He was a soldier and he never questioned his instincts. If his instincts said danger was just around the corner, then he just got the hell out or fired a shot, or whatever. Fight or flee.

His current mental indicators seemed to think the fleeing option was a good choice and he knew he was operating on automatic but it was time to go. Seriously, time to go.

He got his feet over the side of the bed, gently stood up, figured his heels would be painful and they were. But the pain could be ignored. He'd run through basic training with a broken bone in his foot. This was nothing.

The next trick was to disconnect the leads and that would mean the alarm would sound and Beckett and every nurse in a five mile radius would be in the room. The rapidly growing, irrational part of him told him that somehow he would have to run out faster than they could run in. He stared at the controls on the monitor for an unknown length of time, realized he didn't have much of a clue as to how the machine worked. Although theoretically just turning it off would have a far less dramatic result. He presumed.

"What in the hell are you doing out of bed?"

He whirled around, nearly jumping out of his skin in fright. Found Richard clutching another tray of food and Carson standing, both hands on his hips like he was getting ready for a gun fight.

"Uh, I needed to take a leak," he fibbed. No use telling Carson that he'd been ready to make a run for it and for reasons he didn't understand except that the room felt ominous.

"Did it not occur to you to use the call button?" Carson had relaxed, and instead of looking like he was going to get into a shooting match with Sheppard, he just seemed to wish that his patients would stop making their own medical decisions.

"Um, sorry," said Sheppard.

"Of course you're sorry. You're sorry and I'm the one that gets stuck with the wrecked medical equipment and having to do another round of sutures." He chivvied Sheppard back to bed. "If you need to use the facilities, you've got just one choice at the moment. Urine bottle."

"I don't recall you being this much of a bastard when I was last here."

"The last time you were here you were hallucinating from the accidental ingestion of the local's equivalent of a marijuana brownie. For the first twenty-four hours you thought you were in a hotel and I was the concierge."

Oh yeah. He'd almost forgotten about that and about the fact that Rodney had been reduced to crying with laughter when he'd spent an hour insisting that Carson charge the bill for his hotel stay to the US Air Force.

With a bit of maneuvering between the three of them they managed to get him back into bed, and there were more pillows and more propping and eventually he was ready to eat again. This time there was no fainting for which he was glad because with the eggs in front of him, his brain pretty much focused down to just one thing. Stuffing his face like a pig.

For the next thirty minutes the only sounds he made were associated with chewing.

((--))

Biro had run her test multiple times, checked her technique, checked the equipment for contamination. She had initially been confused, and had seriously pondered the contamination angle, but had then been at a loss to explain how such a contamination of the samples could have occurred.

In the end, she'd had to conclude that the test result was correct. She'd commed Dr. Weir urgently. She'd commed Dr. Beckett urgently. She's even put a call through to Dr. McKay.

They were sitting in the conference room and they seemed as stunned as she was. Rodney kept asking if she was sure her test protocols were correct.

"I've checked and rechecked. The result is right. The DNA from the epithelial are Asgard. Or I should say, Asgard related."

"But there aren't any Asgard in the Pegasus galaxy. Unless you count Hermiod when the Daedalus arrives." Beckett was confused as everyone else. "And the last time I looked I don't think Hermiod had taken to kidnapping as a hobby."

"More to the point, the Daedalus has been en route from Earth. Hermiod couldn't have done it," commented Elizabeth.

"Then why the hell have we got DNA that points to Asgard?" Rodney was giving Biro a look that seemed to imply she'd made up her result.

Biro explained. "As you know the Asgard are clones. Even though their cloning process is incredibly sophisticated, over the centuries they've introduced micro alterations and errors. Not enough to produce mutations but the genome is experiencing degradation. It's enough that if I look at the samples I obtained from Sheppard I can see that they _don't_ contain the same errors."

Beckett and McKay both looked stunned by her revelation.

"And?" Elizabeth hated it when she lagged behind in team conversations. Served her right for getting a doctorate in political science.

"And it means the sample possibly came from the Asgard's ancestors."

It was Elizabeth's turn to look stunned. "You mean…"

"Yes, whoever – or whatever - took Colonel Sheppard is possibly the originator of the Asgard race."

((--))


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Carson Beckett was worried, and he was alarmed, and he was pissed off. Simultaneously. That wasn't an easy emotional state to be in. He'd come out of the meeting with Biro wondering what the Pegasus galaxy was going to dish up next. Here he was thinking he'd seen just about everything and then up popped the likelihood of Asgard related kidnappers.

He'd been heading back to sickbay, Rodney tagging along and clutching his ever present laptop, seemingly unable to understand the words, "No visitors allowed."

"I'm not exactly a visitor; I'm part of his team. He might want a mission debriefing or something."

"There isn't anything to debrief him about."

"I could tell him that we kept looking for him. That we didn't give up."

Beckett stuck his hands in his coat pockets. The man had a point.

"Right. You can see him. But I'm warning you Rodney, don't agitate him. He's had a hard time and the last thing he needs is a long and one sided conversation from yourself."

"I'm quite capable of playing nice when I need to."

"Of course you are." Beckett said it in a tone that stated he'd never actually witnessed the stated feat.

They rounded the corridor, headed into the infirmary. Carson made Rodney wait outside while he walked into the private room.

He'd left Richard and Marcy in charge of getting the bed set up. They used standard hospital mattresses but considering the health problems of Sheppard they'd pulled in a higher specification foam mattress that would distribute the pressure more evenly. Beckett was also a personal fan of medical grade sheepskins, and he was going to use them even if it did result in ribbing from his coworkers. Besides, the stats and results didn't lie.

Carson checked that Sheppard was settled. Between the two nurses they'd propped a foam cushion behind his back, a foam cushion under his ankles to raise his heels and he was sitting on wool pile and for the most part he seemed comfortable. They'd also removed the blood pressure cuff and the IV catheter but left the cardiac monitor hooked up for the time being. Beckett had rechecked his stitches before being called to the meeting, and nothing had been pulled in Sheppard's truncated attempt at walking around.

Carson waited until Richard pulled the blanket up over Sheppard, straightened it out, tucked it in, and put up the guard rails.

"Are you up for a visitor, Colonel?"

Sheppard perked up considerably at the question. "Teyla, Ronon or Rodney?"

"You'd better not have listed those names in descending order of preference," said a muffled voice from behind Carson.

"Guess," said Carson.

Sheppard rolled his eyes. "Come on in McKay. But I'm warning you – step foot into this room and you've volunteered to be my lackey for the entire time I'm here."

Rodney stepped around Carson and strode over to the bed. "You don't scare me and you can't order me around anyway."

"Just watch me try."

Richard and Marcy didn't have much choice but to get out of the way as Rodney grabbed a chair and settled himself in for the long haul. The two startled nurses looked to Carson for some guidance but he just shrugged.

"I think it's safe to leave the children unsupervised."

"I resent that," quipped back Sheppard.

"No, you resemble it," said McKay.

Beckett just shook his head, and walked out, followed by the nurses. He wasn't ever going to admit it to Rodney's face, but for once he was glad the man was in the infirmary. Sheppard would have a chance to wind down but would still be supervised by someone, even if that someone was the world's biggest hypochondriac. Even that had its merits. Rodney wasn't the sort of person who was going to take, "I'm good" as an adequate answer.

As he left the room, Richard and Marcy pulled up beside him.

"We're going to have to keep an eye on the Colonel," said Richard. He was stating what they all felt.

"I know, lad. I don't want this to get any worse than it is. Come on into my office and let's discuss the care routine. He's going to keep us busy for the next few weeks."

((--))

Rodney thought Sheppard looked pretty good for a guy who'd been missing and presumed kidnapped for two weeks. Yeah, his hair could do with a wash, he needed a shave but on the whole, pretty good. Mind you, he also thought he recognized a vaguely familiar expression on Sheppard's face. Forced cheerfulness. The kind used after having been confronted by certain situations that seemed embarrassing. Like the time Rodney had found an enormous spider in his shower. Not that he was a wimp or anything but honestly, it was fairly freaking big. After realizing it was too large to fit down the drain, and knowing he'd never be able to convince himself to have to pick it up – alive or dead – nor scoop it into some handy container, he had hit upon the emasculating decision to pay a visit to his neighbor. The one that liked his cat but thought he was a pig. He knocked on the door, she answered, he made up some lie about his cat being in trouble (which he was, since Rodney had dumped him in the shower with the spider and his cat had been even less impressed with the arachnid than Rodney) and his neighbor had rushed to the aid of the cat. She'd even felt sorry for the spider. She'd guided it into a plastic container and put it outside.

Of course, he'd acted concerned about the cat. Not very well, but acted he had and then he'd forced a smile on his face to cover up the fact that he'd instinctively backed up against a wall as she'd been walking through his living room with a container full of spider.

Yeah, it was that expression, he decided. Don't look too closely, you might see that I'm acting my socks off.

"You'd better tell me what's involved in these lackey duties because I'm a very busy man."

Sheppard started counting off on his fingers. "One, I need my laptop. Two, I need my football DVDs and your _Aliens Trilogy_ set. Three, I need my copy of _War and Peace_-"

"-Optimist." McKay butted into the conversation. He said it because he felt it needed to be said. Really, Sheppard just had to accept he was never going to get past page thirty.

"I thought I might get bored enough to try and read another page or two."

"Do you even know what it's about?"

"There were some princesses at a party. Some chit-chat with some princes. Apparently they're very pretty people. That's as far as I got."

"Remind me never to invite you to an Atlantis book discussion group. Anything else?"

"Nope, that's it at the moment."

"I think I can manage to squeeze that task into my busy schedule."

"That's good. 'Cause I wouldn't want to think I was putting you out or anything."

Rodney opened his laptop, retrieved some documents from a file. "To change the subject… Do you want to read the mission reports?"

"What mission reports?"

"The reports I wrote about your little disappearing act. It's a real page turner. Ronon and Teyla got stunned or something. I think I did too."

He watched as Sheppard seemed to get a slightly panicked expression on his face before he managed to hide it behind a pained expression of boredom. "I don't like writing them, and I hate reading them unless I have to. Do I have to read this one?"

"Only if you're interested."

"Not at the moment. Maybe later." Sheppard affected an air of nonchalance.

Rodney nodded, putting on his own air of indifference. "I can always e-mail it to you. You can read it at your own leisure if you ever get curious." Then, because Rodney had never been known for tact or for patience, he asked the question Carson had been avoiding. "Do you remember anything about what happened?"

Sheppard shook his head adamantly, and Rodney wondered whether to accept the denial at face value. He wasn't great at this sort of stuff. Better at it since seeing Kate, but still - there was a reason certain personalities went into science, and not into politics. Or the service industry.

"Right, fair enough." He couldn't think of anything else to say to Sheppard's response. "I can go and get your laptop if you like."

"Yeah, that'd be great. It's too early to sleep."

Rodney glanced at his watch. "Yeah. It's sixteen hundred."

"Like I said, way too early."

Rodney stood up.

"Can you leave your laptop here?" Sheppard pointed at the device.

"I'm not leaving you my laptop. Besides, it's password protected and I'm not telling you my password."

"Why? You got porn on there or something?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny that statement."

Sheppard gave him a wry smile and it was at that moment, when he was about to respond that Rodney noticed the first trickle of blood starting to flow from both of Sheppard's nostrils and down his upper lip.

"Oh, shit. Your nose is bleeding."

Sheppard looked surprised. "Really?" He put a hand to his nose, wiped, looked at his finger. Blood. "Just get me some tissues. It'll be fine."

McKay cast his eyes around the room. Nope, couldn't see any tissues. He could see gauze and bandages and other things designed for wrapping around cuts and gaping holes in the flesh but no tissues. What sort of place was Beckett running when there weren't any tissues? Rodney made a grab for the nearest absorbable material to hand – a roll of bandage - stuck it under Sheppard's nose.

"Hold this, I'm going to get Carson. Pinch the bridge of your nose or something!"

"It's a nose bleed, Rodney. It'll stop."

Sheppard was saying something else but Rodney wasn't listening. Instead, he hightailed it out of the room and ran towards the office.

((--))

They'd been hunched over their notes, running through the routine when Rodney had barged into the office without even bothering to knock. Carson had been tempted to give him a lecture but Rodney had just wildly gesticulated to the far end of the infirmary and said, "Nose bleed!"

Carson had stood up, Richard in tow. Marcy stayed behind to keep working on the notes. It was probably not a matter of urgency but Rodney wasn't about to be calmed down.

"Don't worry, they usually stop by themselves."

Rodney wasn't about to be placated. Neither was Carson when he entered and saw how much blood was soaking into the roll of bandages. Even Sheppard looked alarmed. He was pinching his nose, sitting forward, trying to get it to stop. He was also swallowing convulsively, and that meant he was swallowing blood on top of everything else.

"That's quite a gusher you've got here," he said in a calm voice, like the whole thing was no big deal. He grabbed a basin, and positioned it under Sheppard's chin, getting him to hold the basin with one hand so he could get a better idea of the volume.

"You want me to get some ice?" It was Richard.

"Yeah, and also get me the portable nasal endoscope that SGC sent in the last supply run, pledgets, and an epistaxis balloon just to play it safe."

"You don't want to pack?"

"No, we'll just go straight to cauterization or the balloon if we need it."

Richard bustled out and Rodney stood in the background, looking anxious and out of place. "Do you want me to do anything?"

Carson was amazed that Rodney was even asking. "You can hold the basin, but only if you aren't going to faint on me."

He could see McKay eyeballing the basin and weighing up his aversion to blood. "Uh, no. Um. Sorry."

"In that case just stay out of the way."

Carson turned his attention back to Sheppard. "Keep pinching your nose, Colonel."

Richard was bustling back and Carson kept an eye on his watch, hoping the bleeding would stop of its own accord. But it wasn't showing any signs of slowing and Carson had seen enough nose bleeds in his time to start getting a tad concerned. Richard put the supplies down, handed over the ice pack to Carson, who placed it on Sheppard's nose.

"Richard, can you soak the pledgets in four percent lidocaine and topical epinephrine please." Richard hustled to the supply cabinet, unlocked it, grabbed out the appropriate drugs and mixed them in a small basin before soaking a number of pads into the solution.

In the interim, it seemed the ice was beginning to constrict the blood vessels to slow the bleeding. Not enough for Carson's liking but it was hopeful. He checked his watch. They were coming up to the ten minute mark. The first priority in the drama was to stop the bleeding. He'd worry about where it originated from later, although it wasn't a tough guess to know that the bleeding was probably originating from the upper septum.

The basin with the soaked pads arrived on the bed table and Carson used nasal forceps to pick one up.

"Colonel, I'm just going to try and stop the bleeding with a vasoconstrictor and local anesthetic. This is going to feel a tad odd, and uncomfortable but it shouldn't be painful."

From the way that Sheppard's eyes were bugging out of head at the sight of the extra long and thin forceps, it seemed that he wasn't in agreement but was liking the bleeding less. Without asking Richard was getting ready to put in a peripheral IV line if it was needed, going for a 14-gauge needle. Carson briefly thought it was a shame that they'd only just removed the last one.

Carson got to work, getting Sheppard to sit up straight and tilt his head back a fraction, inserted the forceps, working the pad into the nostril and holding it against the sides of the nasal cavity. He picked up another one and inserted it, before going for a third and a fourth.

"Oh, this is just _gross_ ." He'd forgotten about Rodney.

"I could do without comments from the cheap seats at this point in time," snapped back Carson. He eyeballed Sheppard, who was looking distinctly off color. "Are you okay?"

Sheppard didn't nod, mainly because he had forceps stuck up his nostril and he was now breathing through his mouth. Instead, he opted to hold up a free hand and give the thumbs up sign.

"A likely story. Just spit out any blood instead of swallowing if you can and if you're going to vomit or think you're going to faint, just hold up a hand and we can stop."

Carson grabbed another pad, got that firmly wedged, then held the forceps in place, making sure the pads weren't accidentally inhaled. Hopefully this was going to do the trick.

"We just have to wait ten minutes and see if this slows it down for us."

Rodney had backed so far into a corner that the wall was the only thing propping him up. "Uh. If it's okay with you, I think I'll go and do some work. And pick up those items Sheppard wanted."

Carson dismissed him with a wave. "Yes, Rodney. That's good. Off you go."

Sheppard gave him the thumbs up and Rodney scowled. "If that's supposed to be a joke, it's pathetic."

The scientist left the room with undue speed. In fact Carson wasn't sure if he'd ever seen Rodney move that fast in his life.

Carson went for some reassuring small talk to wile away the time. "Not much longer," he said. Even though it was seven minutes and counting.

Sheppard gave him a slight nod. Carson noted that at least he'd stopped swallowing so much, and he took that as a good sign.

Sheppard spoke around the five minute mark, when the blood flow had almost appeared to stop "Carson, this day just might get onto my top ten list of Most Fucked Up Days."

"Aye, I imagine it would," replied Carson.

What Carson didn't ask was just how bad all the other days had been if Sheppard only qualified the past twenty-four hours as 'might' getting on his list.

((--))

Rodney was rifling around in Sheppard's quarters, trying to make up for his wimping out in the infirmary. There was bleeding and then there was bleeding. He could cope with paper cuts, scratches, grazes, oozing, weeping and seeping. As long as the oozing, weeping and seeping was at a slow pace. He wasn't good with flowing, rushing, gushing or spurting or anything else blood did when excessive amounts were released from the body under pressure. He'd had the unfortunate experience of seeing himself leak a good deal of blood when he'd been cut by Koyla in an attempt to get him to talk. On a more positive note, the blood had mostly been hidden by the jacket. He also had the unfortunate experience of watching a marine bleed out from a shot to the leg that clipped the femoral artery. He'd watched Sheppard, under instruction from Carson, stick his finger in the wound in an attempt to plug the bleeding and just about thrown up where he stood.

Nope, he wasn't good with medical dramas.

Having blown it in the infirmary as far as he was concerned, he was going to try and make up for it by ensuring he fulfilled his duties as nominated lackey. He grabbed a sports bag and put in the DVDs, and book as ordered. Then he got a bright idea and added whatever else he could find. Sheppard's quarters were spartan to say the least but he figured the guitar picks, the sheet music, the headphones, a couple of PC games, socks, underwear, t-shirts, sweatpants, sweater, toothbrush, toothpaste and dental floss would just about make up for it. He also stuck in the laptop, using a bunch of clothing to wrap it up.

At the end of it all, it looked like Sheppard's quarters had been ransacked.

He picked up the sports bag, just about gave himself a hernia, picked up his own laptop and trotted back to the infirmary. Hopefully by the time he got back, that whole bleeding crisis would be over, they'd have cleaned up and he could pretend nothing had happened.

((--))

Ronon Dex was trained to be a solider by the military on his planet. Then he'd been captured by Wraith and forced to run for his life. As a result, he figured he'd long moved past the petty jealousies that seemed to keep the majority of humanoid life occupied across two galaxies. He'd moved past back stabbing, gossip, power plays, pissing contests, manipulation, emotional blackmail, passive aggressiveness, and politics and a hundred and one other things people did when they felt their precious sense of identify and self were being threatened by someone else. His life had been pared down to the essentials. If he was hungry, he ate. If he was thirsty, he drank. If he was sleepy, he slept. If he was horny, he fucked when presented with the opportunity. He was all instinct and animal passions and that served him well. No need to analyze the situation too much, it was just a matter of going with the flow.

But that was before he'd been informed by Carson that Rodney McKay had been the first one to visit Sheppard. He'd been the one sent away to fetch Sheppard's stuff.

McKay. That annoying, whining, endlessly self involved, overly talkative, flabby excuse of a man. With a surprised detachment, he had come to the conclusion that this news had actually pissed him off.

He'd been allowed to see Sheppard under the strict demand that he keep his visit short due to some unnamed health crisis. No problems there, since he wasn't much for idle chit-chat anyway. Talking for the sake of talking seemed like a colossal waste of energy. Probably explained why McKay spent his free time eating.

Sheppard was propped up in bed, trying to convey an air of confidence that wasn't working. There was an IV dangling from a pole, connected to an IV lock on the back of his hand.

"Hey Ronon. How's things?" The man sounded like his nose was blocked.

"Same as they always are."

"Nothing to report."

"Nope."

"You're good then."

"Yeah."

"Do you know if Teyla is planning on visiting?"

"Yeah, she's coming in after me. Beckett's got some leegja bug in his hair about you having more than one visitor at a time. Doesn't want you getting all excited or something."

"That's because he's still freaked out."

"About what?"

"Nose bleed. Big one. Blood everywhere."

"Sorry I missed it. I like free entertainment."

Sheppard burst out laughing. "Ronon, don't ever change."

Ronon chuckled himself, something he rarely did. "Wasn't planning on it."

With that, he was kind of done. He'd seen Sheppard, Sheppard was conscious, seemed okay, for the most part. That was enough for him these days. Nothing more to say really. Except for the thing that had his brain acting like it has its very own leegja bug running around over the top of his grey matter.

"How come you got Rodney to collect your stuff?" Ronon tried to say it like he didn't care, which he didn't, but still, Sheppard could have asked. Out of politeness or more to the point from one soldier to another. Soldiers understood that the few items one possessed were precious. Like Ronon's blaster. It had got him out of many scrapes.

Sheppard shrugged. "Rodney was the first in the room and I needed a willing slave."

"Fair enough."

"You're not upset are you?" Sheppard raised an eyebrow. "'Cause that would be weird."

Ronon relaxed. Well, as much as Ronon was capable of relaxing. Sheppard was right. He was being a moron. So what if pasty faced McKay had been the one that was at the top of the list for helping out. It meant Ronon could do other things. Like running, and target practice.

"I'll come by tomorrow, see how you're doing."

"Excellent. My man, I'm looking forward to it."

Ronon nodded once, turned and left the room. He passed Teyla on the way out.

"His majesty will see you now."

((--))

Carson took the opportunity to update his notes. A nasal endoscopy confirmed the bleed from the higher portion of the septum. As Sheppard didn't have high blood pressure or hardening of the arteries, or any other diseases that would normally account for the bleeding, that narrowed it down to other explanations. Like the insertion and prolonged use of an NG tube. Presumably not done with any great care or skill and removed recently, leaving a fresh and tenuous clot. The combination of stress, exertion, the change in humidity, the rise in air temperature – any number of factors – had caused the clot to dislodge. Presumably Sheppard's captors had made an attempt at staunching the bleeding themselves before sending him back, because there was no evidence of blood loss on the Colonel's shirt when they'd conducted the forensic exam.

The pledgets had done a good job of slowing the flow to a trickle and then staunching it entirely and with any luck the clot would hold. If not, it was cauterization or trying the balloon.

Then there was the result of the bacterial swab from the ulcers. The count was low. Far lower than he expected.

The evidence was beginning to paint a grim picture. Sheppard's captors had taken enough care to ensure he didn't die of infection, or dehydration. They had taken care of nutritional support and basic hygiene. But they hadn't particularly cared how they accomplished their task.

Not good, not good at all.

((--))

Teyla had been around sickness and death too many times to count. She had learnt to cope as nearly everyone coped. She gave comfort when it counted, she celebrated life, she mourned and eventually, she moved on.

John Sheppard was alive. The relief was overwhelming. Even better, he wasn't injured to any extent that mattered. Theoretically.

She'd read a quote from the library the Earthers had taken with them to Atlantis when they thought they'd never see their home world again. "Where there's life, there's hope."

Yes. A universal truth. As long as you were breathing, there was still a chance.

She walked through the room, smiling broadly, relieved to see him in the flesh. He smiled back at her.

"I'd get up but I've been ordered to stay put." He did what he did best. Started with a joke to put her at ease. Always more concerned for her than he was ever concerned for himself.

She fought the urge to hug him and check that he was real.

"It is good to see you again, Colonel Sheppard." She reached out, grabbed his hand, and gripped it tightly. She was one of the few he allowed such familiarities from. Teyla wondered if he felt safe enough around her to drop his guard on occasions, or that he simply understood that the Athosians were a tactile people.

"My sentiments exactly," he replied. For some reason seemed hesitant to keep contact with her. He squeezed her hand back quickly, dropped it. She ignored the stuffy quality to his voice.

"You were greatly missed."

"Yeah. Ronon was ecstatic." He grinned again. She patted the back of his hand.

"You know as well as I do that Ronon has his own ways of showing his concerns."

"Then Atlantis is missing some bullet holes."

She was staring at him and suddenly felt overwhelmed. She understood at that moment that although her people were used to death, they were not used to rescue. She could accept it if Sheppard simply disappeared and never came back, but all too frequently he was delivered to them through some form of miracle.

Athosians weren't used to miracles.

For some reason, tears were starting to well up in her eyes. She did not cry. She didn't have the time for such indulgences.

"Hey. Teyla. Hey, it's okay." He took her hand back, held onto it.

"I am sorry."

"Don't apologize."

"You are the one who is sick. I am the one who should be comforting you."

He squeezed her hand again. "I'm not sick. Just got too many cuts and bruises to count and orders to quit running around and screwing up Beckett's hard work. Next week I'm probably going to be up and about and then I'm going to kick your butt with the sticks."

She sniffed, recomposed herself. "I doubt it. Your butt is the only thing that has been kicked in all the time we have been practicing. Besides, I doubt Dr. Beckett is going to agree for you to go into practice so soon."

"Scared?"

She shook her head. "When it comes to sparring with you, the only thing I have ever feared is that you would trip and poke your own eye out."

"Oh. Nice. Let's insult the team leader." He let go of her hand, squirmed in the bed. He'd never been good at sitting still for long. "You okay?"

"Yes, Colonel. I am fine. I should let you get some rest."

"You sound like Carson."

"Dr. Beckett is a very wise man. I will check in tomorrow." She turned to go, hesitated. "Please do not vanish again."

He shook his head. "Wasn't planning on it."

She left, feeling better, but shamefaced because she had let her guard down so much, let her emotions show through and in the end indulged in her own needs.

It was the height of Athosian society rudeness.

((--))

The visitors had distracted him slightly and at least he had other things to concentrate on, rather than the blood clot in his nose that felt exactly like the plastic solider he'd managed to wedge up his nose at aged two. An achievement that had not impressed his mother, or the base physician.

"Don't sniff, don't blow and don't pick." That had been Carson's exact words after he'd taken out the pledgets and sighed with relief that the bleeding had stopped. Carson could be blunt when he wanted to. He'd done a check with the nasal endoscope, being very careful not to set the whole thing off again.

"Right, like I'm so bored I'm going to entertain myself with a little booger excavation."

"I'm serious. Don't even touch it. The clot needs time to settle."

"Aye, aye Captain." He'd even given him a mock salute. Then they'd all spent a merry time together cleaning up. A change of bed clothes, a new gown, some scrubbing to get rid of the dried blood on his chin and upper lip. Marcy had come in to help bag the swabs lying around, the forceps went for a trip to the autoclave.

Once settled, therein followed his quick parade of visitors. Both Ronon and Teyla were short and sweet. Rodney had taken longer because there was all the gear to unpack. Sheppard had reluctantly pointed out that although it was nice of Rodney to bring his guitar picks, the string tuner and sheet music, he'd forgotten to bring the actual guitar.

Rodney had smacked himself on the forehead and looked like he couldn't believe he'd forgotten something so obvious. Wanting to cheer him up, Sheppard had pointed out that he had remembered to bring the laptop, as he'd asked, and the DVDs. The toothbrush and toothpaste were an odd but welcome bonus. Rodney, wanting to return the favor, retrieved the last item from the bag. A radio set.

"Don't let Carson catch you with this or he'll kill me."

Sheppard nodded, snuck it under his pillow just before the man in question made his appearance and shooed McKay out with the admonishment, "This isn't Grand Central bloody station."

Abruptly, he was alone, but this time around at least he had the laptop and that meant he could try to distract himself. He felt cold, his skin was goose bumped, the area behind his neck tingled. He knew if he paid attention to the sensations, he would only intensify them. Diversion was the order of the day. Or at least, what was left of the day.

He signed on, connected to the wireless network.

He may have been missing for two weeks but it hadn't stopped the requisition forms and leave requests and quarter reassignments and training plans and After Action Reports and research papers and joke Power Point presentations from arriving in his inbox like clockwork. Seemed everyone had been fairly confident he was going to make it back, or maybe they just automatically CCed him on everything and hoped some other poor bastard would eventually take care of it. Five hundred and forty eight e-mails that needed reading. Or he could just delete them all. Or, he could spend some quality time building a filter. Create some different folders, shift everything not directly related to him to the folders, based on the subject line and the sender and then add color coding. Red for anything from Elizabeth for a start.

That would take an hour. But first, he would watch his football DVDs all over again. Even though he knew every line, every play by heart. It was for that precise reason he loved watching them. They were familiar and the outcome never changed.

He put the DVD in and shuffled himself down into the bed a little more, pulling the blankets up. Somewhere around the ninth spectacular touch down, he drifted off to sleep…

-And woke with a start. The lighting in the room had been turned down. A shape loomed in front of him, hard and square, and he didn't have a clue where the fuck he was. He stared at the shape for seconds, his disoriented brain trying to work it all out, failing miserably, connecting the dots taking a long, long time.

There was the sounds of squeaking. Shoes or feet crossing the floor. His heart rate went through the roof. The cardiac monitor's output briefly picked up.

"Are you awake?" Male voice. Sounded like Richard. Maybe. The square shape of unknown identity resolved itself into a medical supply cabinet.

His brain kicked his vocal cords. Say something. Idiot.

"Um. Yeah. What's the time?"

"Twenty-one-hundred. You dozed off around nineteen-hundred."

Crap, it wasn't actually even technically his normal beddy-bye time yet. He went to bed late, got up early, the military long ago training him to suffice on minimal sleep.

"I must have been tired."

The figure that owned the squeaky shoes turned up the lights a fraction more, and came around to the side of his bed. It was definitely Richard.

"It's a good thing you're awake anyway. We have to make sure you change position every two hours. Dr Beckett wants to avoid any more skin problems. On the good side, I'm going to take out the IV."

Okay, so that was good news. It didn't even take much; Richard just took the needle out of the lock, then carefully removed the lock itself. Completely painless.

Rolling over took longer. Richard had to help him and it took some doing, but he managed to get over onto his left side. He faced a blank wall.

"Where's my laptop?"

"Still on the bed table. I closed the lid when we found you'd dozed off."

"Oh. Can you open it for me?"

Richard pulled the bed table up further, swung it around to face Sheppard. Opened the lid. The screensaver kicked in after a short delay, the soft light from the laptop casting a glow over the immediate area. The light was comforting and warm and made the strange shadows recede.

Richard asked, "You sure you want to sleep with this on?"

"I think I'm going to maybe watch some more of the DVD."

"Sounds like a good idea to me. By the way, you missed dinner. Do you want me to drop anything off?"

"No. Just bring me an extra big breakfast."

"I think we can swing that. I'm going off duty in about two minutes. Anything you want me to pass onto the night staff?"

"Yeah. Could you tell them to leave the laptop on? Sometimes if I can't sleep I like to do some work."

He waited for Richard to probe him further on his decision but he didn't and seemed to find the request perfectly normal. "Sure. No problems."

Richard left him, dimmed the lights again. Sheppard kept his eyes focused on the screen of the laptop but didn't do any work. His waited for his screensaver to kick in. Photos from his life. Planes. Helicopters. Fast cars. The classic Fender and Gibson guitars he coveted. Johnny Cash. Gumball, the dog he had owned when he was nine. The family cat, Scamp, last seen exiting the kitchen in 1971. The photo of his friends from High School at their graduation party. The photo of Checkpoint Charlie taken when his father had been stationed in West Germany and Berlin was cut in two. Teyla, and McKay waving at Zelenka's camera at last year's Christmas party. Ronon in the background desperately trying to appear unaffected by the festivities.

His life, scrolling across the screen. He was never in the photos of course, because he was more of an observer when it came to a social life. He liked to participate but was strangely reticent about being seen to participate. Finding a photo of John Sheppard would be a tough assignment for anyone.

He watched the screen for a long time, concentrated on breathing, reminded himself that he was alive, that everything would be okay, _was_ okay.

Even so, he was going to keep the laptop on. Just in case he forgot. Just in case a lack of light encouraged the monsters under his bed to make their appearance.

((--))


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Carson usually started early at the infirmary. Around six in the morning most days. If it was a good day and nothing much happened, he'd wander back to his quarters at eighteen hundred. If it was a bad day, or an unending series of bad days, he was unlikely to see his quarters for a week.

That's why he had a cot in his office.

Where today stood in terms of urgency was a matter of debate. He anxiously wanted to check his one and only patient but for a change, there wasn't any immediate health crisis or any additional patients. He wondered if he might have a slow day. He hoped.

He'd compromised and allowed himself to come in an hour late so he could talk to the night shift before they went off duty at eight and he was there for the handover.

First things first. He went to his office, checked over the previous night's notes and charts, logged onto his e-mail, crossed off another day on his _Scenic Scotland_ calendar. This month the picture featured Loch Ness. For a guy from Scotland, it was almost as boring as the sheep. He loved his mum but dear God, the woman had terrible taste. She was the sort of woman who'd knit him a v-neck sweater and use pink wool.

Grabbing a freshly laundered white coat from the hook in his office, he went to talk to Marcy, who'd volunteered to move to the night shift. Who'd seen him from the small room they reserved for staff conferences and drinking coffee. Beckett entered, Marcy got another mug out and poured a cup from the coffee machine. Handed it over to Carson, who gratefully took his legally sanctioned wake up drug.

"How is Colonel Sheppard?"

"Awake."

"Did he get any sleep?"

Marcy grimaced. "Not really. Disturbing him every two hours made it hard for him to settle down for any length of time."

"Not surprising. Hopefully when he gets used to the routine he'll sleep better. Anything else?"

"No. That's it. I'm just waiting for Richard to come in and I can't wait. Every time I went into Sheppard's room he talked my ear off."

Carson raised an eyebrow. "The Colonel?"

"Yeah. He wouldn't shut up. I barely got any work done last night. Every time I went to wake him, I got stuck for at least forty minutes."

"What did he talk about?"

"Nothing much. Just trivia really. I didn't mind the big discussion about Jack Bauer's character arc in _24_, because I'm a fan, but when he started telling me about Johnny Cash I got a little bored. Did you know that he had his own TV show from 1969 until 1971?"

Carson shook his head.

Marcy took a sip of her coffee. "Neither did I until last night. I also know, against my will, that Johnny Cash was inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame in 1980, that he joined the Air Force, that his brother Jack was killed in a saw mill accident in 1944 and that his custom made guitar sold for $131,200 in 2004."

Carson followed her lead and took another mouthful of coffee. "You think he's bored or there's something else going on?"

"At this stage, I think it's boredom. Maybe a touch of anxiety."

"I'll go and check on him."

"Just don't let him start on Johnny Cash or you won't make it out until after breakfast."

"Thanks for the warning."

"Oh, and by the way, I think he's been bugging McKay."

"Really? How?"

"You'll see."

He left her to finish her coffee, and still clutching his own mug, headed for Sheppard's room. Opened the door, poked his head in, got a look at Sheppard concentrating on the screen, earpiece inserted, frantically cursing over the microphone. The lights were on full.

"Don't you dare! Don't you dare shoot me. God damn it! McKay. You're a sneaky fucker when you want to be. Just you wait… " Some frantic clicking, and mouse scrolling later he let out a yell of triumph. "_Hah_! Take that." He listened to the other end of the conversation for a moment. Grinned. "Oh, sure, _now_ you have to go and take a shower and get ready for work."

Carson cleared his throat. "Colonel Sheppard?"

Sheppard looked up at him, smiled. "You're lucky McKay. Carson just turned up, so you're safe for the moment. Talk to you later."

"Can I ask where you got the radio from?"

Sheppard turned contrite, realized he'd been caught out. "From no one."

"By no one, do you mean Rodney?"

"Okay, it was Rodney. Don't blame him. He was just trying to help. Besides, I'm more likely to stay in bed if I'm playing video games on the network."

Carson sighed, but didn't start in on a lecture. "Fair enough. I'm the one who said you could play with Rodney in the first place."

"When you say it like that, it sounds so dirty."

Carson ignored him. "Would you say that you're overly perky for such an early time of the morning?" Carson got his stethoscope ready by rubbing it briskly on his lab coat.

"Sorry. Didn't get much sleep last night. I tend to get wired when I don't sleep. Military thing."

Carson loosened the back of Sheppard's gown, pulled it down a fraction. "Do me a favor and take a deep breath."

Sheppard did as he was told and Carson moved the stethoscope around his back, listening intently.

"Completely normal."

"Makes a change. Usually when I wind up in here, it's all downhill."

"Do me a favor and try not to jinx yourself."

"Spoken like someone who's been left trying to undo the jinx."

Sheppard leaned back in the bed, pulled his gown back into position, then shut down _Half Life 2_. "McKay promised another round over lunch."

"He's not going to get any work done, is he?"

"Not if I can help it. I plan to aggravate him as payback."

Carson could completely understand. "Just don't torment him too much."

Sheppard put a hand over his heart in mock innocence. "As if I would ever do that."

"To change the subject, Richard's going to be here in a couple of hours to help you get organized and change the dressings. As a bonus, I think we can dispense with the cardiac monitor. I can also go and get you some breakfast if you like."

Sheppard looked like Carson had just announced Christmas had been moved forward by six months. "Yeah. That'd be great. I'm getting hungry."

"You could have asked Marcy, she could have got you something."

"I thought I'd give her a break. I think she's kind of displeased with me."

"She did mention something along those lines."

"I was bored."

"She mentioned that as well. Anything you've got a craving for?"

"No. Surprise me. But not in an oatmeal kind of way."

"Noted. I'll be back as soon as I can. Remember to use the call button and Marcy will come running."

"Really?" He picked up the call button, a wicked gleam in his eye, thumb hovering like he was a contestant on a game show.

"Don't get any ideas. If I see that woman running in here for no other reason than your own entertainment, I'll sedate you."

Sheppard put the call button down. "You never let me do anything fun."

Carson strolled out of the infirmary and didn't know whether he should be relaxed and happy, or concerned and tense. Sheppard was like his usual self with an extra helping of Sheppard piled on top. Joking, wide awake and alert. He thought he should go and talk to Kate but wasn't sure what he was going to say. When he rehearsed the lines in his head, it sounded strange, even coming from a doctor. "Colonel Sheppard is conscious, oriented, lucid and adapting to the situation better than expected."

Yes. Sounded awful. Quite dismal. Not. Still, better safe than sorry. He hoped.

((--))

Rodney was late to work, late starting on his project and just all around late. It was his own fault of course. He was the one who decided to include the radio in the giant gift basket of Sheppard's personal belongings; naturally he was the one that Sheppard had decided to call. At four in the morning. He'd tried ignoring him but Sheppard just kept calling and military two-ways didn't come with Caller ID. Just an off button and the last thing anyone on Atlantis would do is turn their radios off. Never knew when the call would come to help hold off a ravaging horde of insane aliens.

He'd eventually conceded, staggered out of his bed, fired up the laptop, plugged into the network and tried his best to discourage the man by shooting him at every opportunity he had. Problem was, he was tired and his reflexes weren't good when he was tired.

He usually hit the labs around seven, usually arriving before anyone else and he could usually clear some paperwork. Besides, it scared the crap out of the underlings. He made sure he left after they did and got there before they did, just to prove who the alpha male amongst the scientists was. That would be him. Rodney McKay: team leader.

Unfortunately by the time he'd showered, dressed, got himself reasonably presentable, went and stood in the queue for breakfast, ate, attempted to engage in idle chit-chat with the woman who was forced to share his table due to crowding, left, and walked to the labs, someone else had arrived first.

A startled Asian woman, whose name he could never remember, greeted him. He suspected she had the hots for him, but could never be sure. He'd asked her where she came from once, after encouragement from Heightmeyer, who said he should get to know his team better. He'd said, "Are you from Japan?" She'd nodded, giggled, and used one finger to push her glasses back to the top of her nose. Then he said, "I'm from Canada." Then they'd stared past each other for ten seconds at the walls before she'd rushed off muttering something about leaving an experiment running.

She pushed her glasses back up again, and stared at him like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. "Dr McKay, I was worried."

"Nothing to worry about. Had to attend to a bit of an emergency."

"Emergency?" She'd straightened up, a look of terror on her face.

God, he had to make a point of remembering that the word 'emergency' on Atlantis had a different connotation to the word on Earth. Most people back home used 'emergency' in the terms of losing their babysitter, or the car breaking down. On Atlantis 'emergency' tended to mean a lack of oxygen, shootings, stunnings, flooding, lethal viruses, super hurricanes, and a wide and varying assortment of the psychotic.

"No, no, calm down. It was nothing serious. Just helping someone out."

Her eyes appeared to be the size of saucers, compliments of the thick lenses in her frames.

"Seriously," he continued. "Just helping a friend. Nothing to worry about."

She seemed to relax, handed over a sheet of paper. "Dr. Biro said I should print this off and give it to you and then ask if you wanted a meeting. She said she has also sent a copy of the report to Dr. Beckett and Dr. Weir. Also, Dr. Cooper from the communications lab wanted you to check an anomalous reading in the background noise."

"What kind of reading?"

"He did not say. Just that you should take a look at it and it was probably nothing but that you had insisted all new signals in the background noise must be checked through you."

"Right. Fine. Give me that." He took the paper from her.

Turned out Biro had completed sequencing Sheppard's DNA. No additions, deletions or alterations, which meant the Sheppard sitting in the infirmary was one hundred percent, guaranteed John Sheppard. Good. Finding out the guy was a clone would have put a serious dampener on the entire day. Still, why Biro couldn't have commed him directly… Oh yeah. That's right. His radio channel was tied up with gaming chatter from the guy who wasn't a clone.

He went over to his work bench with his laptop, opened it up, and accessed the communication traffic logs on the server. Sometimes Cooper was a pain in the – as those from the Commonwealth countries liked to say - arse. Cooper ran every single log through Rodney if it had so much as a single new blip in the data. Was it his fault if Cooper had proven himself less than trustworthy in the first week when he'd decided to set up an easily detectable communication network on UHF?

The problem was that no matter how careful they were Atlantis leaked. They hadn't been able to run cable, and most of the traffic was over wireless, or low powered dishes. The radio signals and video signals across the bandwidth leaked out into the atmosphere and into space. Jumpers leaked their own noise when communicating with Atlantis. Of course, it was all based on Ancient technology but even the Ancients didn't seem to have all the answers for completely shielding their communications. Encrypting it, yes. Hiding it? No. Any aliens hell bent on destruction were going to have to be within spitting distance of the planet to have their curiosity piqued but that still left a small chance of being detected - and that meant injecting enough artificial background noise into the mix to obscure any sign of the signals being produced by intelligent life.

The new quirk in the noise was a puzzle though. It looked random. A strange blip that had popped up a few times during the day and then stopped. Theoretically their algorithms could have been generating it, after all, the algorithms were supposed to generate random signals.

He scratched his head, wondered if he should investigate the blip further. It had made him curious but it could also be a colossal waste of time. The week hadn't been nearly slow enough to warrant wasting hours ferreting through algorithms to confirm that a random peak in a frequency was actually a random peak in the frequency.

His hand hovered over the keyboard, and he was just about to consider setting up a logging program that would capture any occurrence of the signal, when a name flashed up in the messenger window on his screen. Zoomie.

Sheppard's gaming alias and real life profession.

Text appeared in the messenger window. "u wnt anthr gm?"

Christ, it looked like it had been typed by a gerbil running across the keyboard. He used his touch typing skills to enter, "No, I said I would play during lunch."

"plz?"

He did some angry typing. "No. Go away and leave me alone for the next four hours."

"OK. cu l8r."

Zoomie left the messenger window and Rodney thought that whoever taught Sheppard text messaging abbreviations needed to die. About two seconds later, for reasons unknown to him, he started feeling guilt-ridden again.

Son of a bitch.

((--))

Carson decided he was feeling cheerful. Yes, after the report from Biro he was feeling distinctly cheerful. She'd commed him directly and the clean DNA result meant that one potential problem had been officially cleared up.

He'd swung by Elizabeth's office. She'd received the same report and she was as relieved as he was. They'd had to consider the possibility of a replacement or duplicate of some type. That's how paranoid they'd become. Even with Sheppard back, they had to worry about whether he was the real one.

That just left all of the standard problems. After paying a visit to Elizabeth he swung by Kate's quarters on the way to pick up Sheppard's breakfast. Good excuse to drop by casually, and sound her out about his suspicions.

She walked down the corridor with him, their voices low.

"You think he's showing signs of manic behavior?"

"Good Lord, no. Nothing that dramatic."

"What then?"

"He just seems a little too cheerful for a man that's been missing and held captive for two weeks."

"What were you expecting Carson? Wailing and gnashing of teeth?"

He shrugged. "To be honest love, I don't know what I was expecting. I treated victims when I worked in Accident and Emergency in Edinburgh but this is different."

"I don't think it's time to panic just yet. He's a guy. He's US Air Force trained. He's resilient. You have to clobber him pretty hard before he shows signs of strain."

"Any recommendations?"

"Elizabeth still wants me to talk to him and ascertain how much he remembers. I could always try and work in a visit today – that is, if a certain Scottish physician will let me. I seem to recall you had me banned yesterday."

"I overreacted. That damn security protocol rattled me."

"Why don't I come back with you and schedule something with our favorite Colonel?"

"Thanks Kate. That would be grand."

((--))

He was discovering that as per usual, being stuck in an infirmary bed was a huge inconvenience. Just getting organized enough in the morning to prepare for a long day of doing not-much-at-all needed to be conducted like a military training exercise.

Carson had wandered off to get breakfast, and Marcy had handed over to Richard, who arrived early and between the Marcy and Richard, they'd decided to get through the work faster by tag teaming him. There had been the usual queries regarding any urgent need for the bedpan, and thankfully there wasn't. One minor indignity temporarily avoided for a while longer.

Then, to balance out the potential indignity, the cardiac monitor leads came off, and he was officially free of the problems of trying to sleep while hooked up via wiring to the latest in technology. It was less problematic for him to roll over once freed, but it was still awkward due to the twinges of pain.

Marcy unwrapped his feet, checked the stitches, checked that the abrasions on his wrists and ankles were good and carefully pulled the gauze, tape and gel pads off the back of his heels. Carefully removed the packing. Richard went for the gel on his back and repeated the action. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the pain was minimal. Now, if only they'd stop touching him. It was hard to keep still.

Richard explained. "Your wound isn't infected, so we'll continue using autolytic debridement. It's slower, but a lot less painful and more selective."

They went through the same motions. They irrigated the wounds with saline, packed it with special gauze, covered it with a gel and then taped the wounds up again.

That only left getting cleaned up. Marcy declared herself off duty and left Sheppard alone with Richard. He passed a packet over to Sheppard.

"I grabbed some bath wipes. They're like big washcloths. It means you can avoid the whole sponge bath routine."

"Really? Excellent." Sheppard thought it was the best news he'd heard since waking up. He pulled open the packet and found a moist toilette on steroids. It had definitely been designed by someone who thought that if they made a big disposable washcloth, the person would need to only use one. He could have used it for a picnic blanket. As to the migration from a sponge bath featuring water, somebody, presumably one of the nurses, had been paying attention to the excessive bitching from the marines. Not that getting a sponge bath from a hot female nurse wasn't generally regarded as the highlight of the infirmary stay but it wasn't so much of a highlight when done by a male nurse.

"I thought we'd try cleaning up your hair first and then you can take care of the rest yourself."

Sheppard nodded. Clean hair would be great because he imagined it wasn't looking too good just at this point in time. The last thing they'd worried about yesterday was his newly acquired greasy and limp style. Richard hauled out a spray bottle, shook it.

"Since we can't get you into a shower just yet, I'm using a dry shampoo. They're a little messy, but it's definitely going to clean you right up. Close your eyes."

He did as he was told, heard the spray. Strange sound. More of a hissing really. Like a machine. A machine that did something. But he didn't know what. Nothing good.

"Are you planning on finishing any time soon?" He thought he asked the question in a jovial tone of voice but maybe it came out more terse than he planned because as soon as he asked, the spraying stopped.

He opened his eyes. Richard was putting the spray can down on the cabinet, seemingly unperturbed by his abrupt skewing of mood. Sheppard tried for a cover.

"I was having visions of you spraying my hair into a cute bouffant."

Richard chuckled, picked up a hair brush and hand held mirror. "No such luck. However, I do appear to have aged you prematurely."

Sheppard took the mirror, got a look at his head. The hair had been covered by a fine white powder that mimicked the makeup techniques of every High School drama production that wanted to make their sixteen-year-olds look like eighty-year-olds.

"You have to brush it out. I'll leave you to do that, get yourself cleaned up with the wipes, and change." He passed over a clean hospital gown. "Just hit the call button when you're ready and I'll strip the sheets."

"Will the excitement never end?" He was all ready opening up the wash cloth, more than happy to get rid of the grimy, sticky feeling he'd had since arriving back.

"Just wait until we have to clip your toenails. It's a laugh riot." Richard gave him a grin, made it clear he was joking.

"You must be a fun date," Sheppard joked back.

"You'd think wouldn't you? But, no. Women get unhappy out when their boyfriend is a bigger neat freak than they are."

"That's what happens when you spend your life cleaning up after sick people."

"It was either this or McDonalds."

Sheppard smiled. Okay, Richard seemed like a decent person and he was also a guy who was respecting Sheppard's 'guy space' and leaving him to get on with the business of washing up.

He watched Richard depart from the room, set up an impromptu guard at the doorway, so any unintended visitors were prevented from entering.

Undoing the hospital gown, he experimentally wiped at an arm. Brown gunk instantly appeared on the formally white cloth.

He screwed up his face. It was going to take more than one of these suckers to remove this much dirt. He found himself wondering again just what in the hell he'd been doing for two weeks.

((--))

Teyla found herself wandering the corridors of Atlantis much as she had the previous two weeks. She'd been reassigned to Lorne's team, along with Ronon and she found the change of team leader to be strangely disconcerting. She didn't realize how much herself, Rodney and Ronon had bonded, and to a relative degree, adjusted themselves to function together even though it would seem a team made up of such wildly divergent personalities was never going to work. That was all down to Sheppard. His laid back leadership style basically said that he accepted them as they were and they'd pretty much better return the compliment to everyone else.

That didn't mean he would ignore bad behavior or sloppy work and he didn't tolerate anyone getting too out of control. He had no hesitation in bawling out anyone he felt had crossed the line. That frequently meant Rodney McKay was in the firing line but again, because Sheppard wasn't one to hold a grudge, as soon as he'd put his point across – as loudly as possible – it was over.

She admired that. All too often a leader would take offence and hold onto it, nursing that feeling of betrayal, or whatever else had sparked the problem. It wasn't a good way to inspire trust from anyone.

Lorne was a good leader, but he didn't seem to know what to do with McKay, or Ronon for that matter. Ronon was prone to hot headed decisions and he didn't seem inclined to check in with Lorne. Rodney just ranted on about everything and anything.

Their two weeks down on the planet trying to dig up clues had frayed everyone's nerves. Trying to adjust to a new team leader, trying to find Sheppard. Ronon had kept offering the suggestion they should just find someone to threaten and Rodney had called everyone a liar.

The villagers were frightened but they weren't lying and seemed unable to clearly articulate their fear. The reason offered for Sheppard going missing was murky and mixed up with what appeared to be a local legend. The owner of the bar had pointed to the dusty Ancient device and muttered, "The Old Ones are displeased. They take the ones that go against their wishes."

That was as far as they could get.

Ronon fell into step beside her.

"You going to get something to eat?" When he walked with Teyla, he shortened his pace so that she wasn't running to keep up with him.

"I am sorry Ronon but I do not feel like eating at this time."

"Then where're you going?"

He had a good point.

"I am not sure." She didn't finish the sentence because she didn't know what she was trying to say. That everything seemed too convenient, unexplained – wrong?

Ronon stopped. She drew to a halt beside him, waited for him to start talking.

"He's gone two weeks and he just walks back through the 'gate. Don't seem right to me. The whole reason for kidnapping, and taking hostages is that you want something and you're gonna use that person to bargain with. You don't let an asset just go wandering off."

"I would agree with you, Ronon. But I am sure that Dr. Beckett is doing everything he can to make sure that nothing is amiss."

"Don't get me wrong. It's Sheppard. I know that. You know that. I just want to know that's the end of it."

"You fear that they have done something to Colonel Sheppard?"

"Don't know that either. But I've seen enough strange stuff in my time to be weary. One minute he's Sheppard and the next minute he's trying to kill us. No thanks."

Teyla broke her gaze to look down at the floor. She'd had exactly the same thoughts of late but hadn't wanted to acknowledge them. "Perhaps later, we could visit Dr. Beckett and tell him our concerns."

Ronon stopped short of rolling his eyeballs. "Yeah, like that'll make it all better."

((--))

Carson delayed heading back to the infirmary because he knew that Richard would be getting Sheppard through the morning routine and didn't want to disturb them, even though Sheppard was hungry. He'd pick up the breakfast order on the way back. Instead, he decided to treat himself because it had been a long time since he'd had a chance to just hang out in the cafeteria and share a cup of coffee with anyone.

"So Kate, how's business?"

She took a sip of coffee to wash down her mouthful of toast. Looked around to make sure no one was in earshot. "The same as always. Bad dreams, stress, eating disorders, and mother and/or father issues. Although I do have a client who has an interesting body dysmorphic order in response to stress. Thinks the left foot is bigger than the right foot. Swears its true even though the shoe size for both feet is the same."

"A wee bit of a challenge for you then."

"A wee bit. How's life treating you, Carson? Got a personal life yet?"

"Yes, thank you. I have a personal life. It's not that exciting but it's all mine."

"Does Cadman know she's not that exciting?"

Carson tried to look outraged. "Kate, the poor love has enough excitement in her job. She positively dotes on my many boring qualities including my reluctance to go off-world."

"Many boring qualities? They can't be that bad."

"I like to read novels, go to dinner, watch the occasional movie, and take long moonlight strolls around Atlantis. I think that qualifies as boring."

"Or maybe you're like everyone else on Earth. Still, you are in the middle of a top secret government funded expedition to another galaxy. That's not boring." Kate said it with a twinkle in her eye and a hint of amusement.

"So is Cadman. I think that means we just cancel each other out."

Kate took another sip of her coffee, put the mug down on the empty tray. "To change the subject, do you think it's time we paid a visit to the Lieutenant Colonel?"

Carson glanced at his watch. "Sure. Richard should have had enough time to get everything done by now. Let me pick up something to take back."

((--))

Getting out of bed when under strict instructions not to actually walk was an exercise in imitating a deranged pelican. There was standing and a bit of mild hopping and some swiveling until Richard got him lined up with a wheelchair, padded with foam and sheepskin, and he could sit down. Where he remained until Richard had changed the sheets, plumped the pillows, rearranged the foam and sheepskin in the bed and then more shuffling, hopping, and swiveling until he was back on the mattress.

"If we have to go through this every morning, I quit," said Sheppard in a bout of whining.

"But think of the good times and how it means you're not bored."

Sheppard pulled a face. "I think you seriously need to reassess your idea of entertainment."

"If it's any consolation it's only until the cuts on your feet heal up. After that you can try walking around, depending on those ulcers."

"That makes me feel much less cranky," he shot back.

He was interrupted from saying anything else by the arrival of Carson and Kate. Carson bearing a tray, Kate bearing a smallish paper cup. Lid on. Familiar smell.

"Is that what I think it is?"

Kate nodded. "One regular, black coffee in all its glory."

She put the cup down on the bed table, Carson followed with the tray. Sheppard lifted the lid on the tray – turned out to be another round of eggs, a couple of sausages, toast and orange juice.

"Carson, you keep feeding me like this and I'm going to get fat."

"On you, that'd take months."

"Hah hah."

Richard gathered up his supplies, stuffing the linens in a bag ready for removal. Carson went over and grabbed a few items.

"Anyway Colonel, I'll just help Richard here and give you and Kate a couple of minutes to talk."

"So subtle Carson. So, so, subtle." Sometimes Sheppard wondered if Carson realized he was blindingly obvious. He watched both men exit and Kate make herself comfy on a stool.

"Carson said you were banned." Might as well fire the first opening round, thought Sheppard.

"He changed his mind. Actually, I made him change his mind because I missed you." She smiled.

"Like hell. You haven't seen me to miss me."

"I know. I lied. Why is that anyway?"

"Because I don't need to see you." And he didn't. Well, not as yet anyway.

"Fair enough. Which leads me to the next point of my conversation. I think events probably warrant that we get to know each other."

"If you're asking me out on a date Heightmeyer, I think that's highly unprofessional."

"Ah, the conceit of fly boys. You always think every woman in the immediate area wants to date you."

He put his hand on his chest, faked looking hurt. "They don't? Why, oh why, didn't someone tell me that when they were writing their phone numbers on the back of my hand."

"Maybe they were fake phone numbers."

"I tried them Heightmeyer. They were real." He pointed at the coffee and the plate. "Do you mind if I eat this while we bond? " Not that he was planning on waiting for her approval. He took a sip of coffee and then started hacking away at a sausage. Noted that despite Carson's best efforts someone had been remiss and not included any ketchup.

"I'm sure your answers will be just as intelligible when you're speaking with a mouthful of breakfast."

He didn't bother to reply because he'd already started tucking in and after his first taste, judged it to his liking, especially the sausages, and kept on going with a single minded determination that did not include taking any notice of Kate.

"Colonel, let's make a time to have a proper chat and get to know each other. By the way, Elizabeth said your participation is mandatory. Do not pass go. Do not have a get out of jail free card."

He replied through a mouthful of processed meat product. "You win. How about this afternoon? That'll give me something to look forward to." The last line was delivered with a certain amount of cynicism. It wasn't that he hated her or anything, and in fact he thought she did an excellent job at taking care of people. She'd helped Teyla enormously. It's just that he thought she was excellent when it came to _other_ people. When it came to himself, he wasn't very sure and he was a lot more cautious. He was a private person. He had to have down time away from the hustle and bustle of people and he certainly didn't unwind or relax when forced to recount any details of his life.

Still, the modern military took a dim view of any commander who didn't follow combat stress control protocols or was at least aware of them. Making sure his team could cope was not open for debate, nor did he want it to be. He didn't hesitate in letting Kate know of anyone who needed help. Making sure _he_ could cope was a whole different matter mainly because he always thought he coped just fine.

He watched Kate using her stylus to set an appointment in her PDA and went back to swirl the last piece of sausage around in the egg. That's when he was astonished to find that ketchup had mysteriously appeared on his plate after all.

Then he knew it wasn't ketchup because he heard Kate mutter, "Oh hell." Then she reached for the call button.

The fluid mimicking a cheap runny version of ketchup was pooling all over his toast.

"Fuck," he said.

Another nosebleed, and another ruined meal. At least it wasn't all over the sheets this time around. He gawked at the plate and the steady drip of blood and really, it was kind of fascinating.

Carson was running into the room about a minute later, probably breaking the world land speed record for an emergency response by an infirmary physician. He didn't bother looking up but he winced when he heard Carson talking over his radio.

"Richard? Yeah, we're going to have to try cauterization. Bring in the silver nitrate sticks, pledgets, ice, and mix up the lidocaine and epinephrine solution for me."

That was just great.

Unfortunately it was at that moment Kate decided to get up from her stool and approach the bed. He only saw her out of the corner of his eye, his peripheral vision projecting an image of movement, of something unexpectedly sneaking up on him. The next instinct was automatic and it was done before he could stop.

He punched Kate right in the face. Hard.

((--))


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

When Kate staggered back from Sheppard's punch, Carson's own reflexes kicked in. Sheppard had been bleeding into a plate of breakfast, and Kate had gone flailing backwards – from the force of the punch and her own surprise – and wound up falling on her butt, where she stayed.

"Pinch your bloody nose, right bloody now and stay where you are."

Sheppard did as he was told because he'd snapped back to reality, realized what he'd done and was attempting to get himself out of bed to aid Kate. The blood was still flowing and all he was doing was getting blood all over himself and the bed.

Carson rushed over to Kate, bent down to get a better look. She was conscious, appeared to be sitting up okay, no limbs at an angle that indicated a break or sprain but she was holding a hand to her mouth and her expression could only be described as one of complete and utter shock.

"Let me have a look at you."

Kate took her hand away; blood welled between her lips to dribble down her chin. He carefully felt around the jaw, ensuring there were no breaks. He'd seen Sheppard react and he definitely hadn't pulled his punch. He gently palpitated the back of her neck, got no signs of pain.

"Can you turn you head for me? Just a little and very slowly."

Kate did as she was told, moved her head slightly. "It's sore, but not too bad."

Thankfully, Richard entered at that point in time, carrying the supplies.

"Richard, go get me a collar and then once you've done that, make sure you get some ice on the Colonel's nose. I'll be there in a minute."

He didn't bother to look around to see if Richard was actioning his request or not, he just presumed that he was. He kept his attention on Kate, took his penlight out of his pocket.

"Can you open your mouth a wee bit for me?"

Kate did her best to comply. Carson immediately spotted a deep gouge on the inside of her bottom lip, compliments of her upper teeth. One of which was now chipped. It also appeared that another tooth, one of the canines, was off at an angle, forced back towards the palette. Not completely knocked out, but it definitely seemed to indicate a break in the supporting alveolar bone.

Richard in the interim had rushed back to him with a collar and Carson smoothly fastened the collar around her neck.

"Don't worry Kate, that's just a precaution. I'm going to get you off the floor, and out to the main infirmary area."

Her eyes were still wide from the shock of it all, and between Richard and himself, they carefully hauled her to her feet. Richard kept a grip on Kate's arm to ensure she was steady.

"Richard, you need to contact Carl Shaw."

"The dentist?"

"Aye. Let him know that I'd like him to come up and take a look at Kate. I also want you to test her reflexes, and order up an x-ray of her neck, just to be safe. In the interim, she's got an intraoral laceration. I want you to give her lidocaine then irrigate. Don't stitch it. Get Carl to assess the wound when he comes in. "

He turned his attention back to Kate. 'Kate, you've got some damage to your teeth, which Carl should be able to assess. I also want him to check the wound on your lip just to make sure it's okay. You'll be fine, don't worry. The x-ray is just a precaution."

Richard guided her out and what Carson didn't tell Kate was that he suspected the missing portion of her tooth was embedded in her lip. Carl was going to have to pick out the chips and then to be safe, he'd give her antibiotics.

That just left Sheppard. Who was still in bed, ice bag on his nose, and he looked a damn sorry state. Not just from the blood but from the totally appalled expression he was wearing on his face. He had done as he was told and kept quiet while Carson had attended to Kate, for which Carson was grateful.

"Not to worry, Colonel. I'm going to stop that bleeding right now. Okay?"

Sheppard nodded, but didn't speak. Unsurprisingly, he seemed apprehensive.

"We'll figure it out. I know you didn't do that deliberately."

That didn't seem to change the mood in the room any. Sheppard's entire body language was rigid, as if he was holding himself together tightly, just to stop himself from falling apart.

"I hit Kate." He blurted the statement out as if by saying it, it would confirm that reality of his actions.

"I know you did." Carson busied himself by readying the silver nitrate sticks. He got the pledgets ready by soaking them in lidocaine. He wanted the septum to be as anaesthetized as possible before he attempted a chemical cauterization.

"That was wrong." Again, the same dazed statement of fact.

"Aye, but like I said, I know you didn't do that deliberately. Seemed to be a startle reflex." Carson paused, wondered if it was safe to wander in such murky territory. "Did you remember something?"

Sheppard's expression said he didn't know what the hell had caused him react. "I… I thought there was, uh, something there. That shouldn't be." He swiftly changed the subject. "Is she going to be okay?"

Carson had out the forceps again, and got ready to start inserting the pledget and numbing up the area he needed to work on.

"Well, she's not severely injured if that's what you mean. But she's going to need some dental work and I imagine she's going to be very sore for the next few days."

"Oh." He didn't seem to have anything else to say. Carson made him tip his head back slightly and began working the pad into the nostril.

"I don't do shit like that," said Sheppard.

"Stop talking just for now," replied Carson, trying to concentrate. "We can discuss this later, but after we fix up your current problem."

Sheppard went silent again.

They'd barely made it into the forty-eight hour mark since Sheppard's return and considering the track record to date, Carson wondered just what else was going to happen. He glanced down at Sheppard's hands, saw that one knuckle was chaffed and bleeding. Another thing to worry about. Connecting with Kate's teeth meant the high possibility of infection from the bacteria everyone carried around in their mouths and that meant he should probably start Sheppard on a course of antibiotics.

The injuries Sheppard had accrued in his latest adventure to date certainly weren't life threatening. Not yet anyway – at least to Carson's experienced eye - but it was starting to add up and it was infuriating.

((--))

Rodney always visited Kate on Thursday. Thursday at seventeen-thirty to be precise. Usually on the pretense of an early dinner break if he was working. He'd sneak down to her office, and talk.

He'd started looking forward to Thursdays. Not that he should, but he did. Cynically he could view the fact that Kate listened to him intently and didn't tell him to shut up (for the most part) was merely part of her job description. The needier part of him liked to think that Kate and he were friends. Of sorts.

A friend who had just stood him up. She'd sent him an e-mail. It read: _Have to cancel today Rodney. I'm indisposed for a few days. I'll reschedule and let you know. Love, Kate. _

For at least a minute he felt like he'd been jilted. Then he went into a self righteous and largely unobserved hissy fit because she'd barely given him any notice. It was nearly time to visit and she'd just turned around and cancelled on him. Then he'd progressed to worry because Kate had never cancelled on him in the entire time they'd been on Atlantis and that had included the time an imminent Wraith invasion was due.

He moved into worry. Something was up, something serious and common sense said he shouldn't pry because someone, like Elizabeth, would have asked him to by now. Pry that is. In an official capacity. But no one had. His mind seized on the various possibilities. Sheppard's sanity had snapped like a dry twig in summer. Some unfortunate had tried to off themselves. An invasion was due and nobody had bothered to tell him. Kate had snapped. Kate was in the infirmary. The possibilities were endless.

He hit the directory on the Intranet and looked up the location of her quarters. It wasn't like she could have an unlisted number or anything, anyway. Having found her location, he made some excuse to the underlings hovering around that he needed to talk to Elizabeth about team leader type scenarios and rushed off to find Kate.

((--))

Carson was in conference with Elizabeth again. Seemed that was all he ever did these days. Ensure nothing more untoward had happened with Sheppard – which it hadn't. Ensure Kate was healing – which she was. Read through the rest of Biro's forensic reports – which seemed to indicate Sheppard had been kept on the planet, but maybe not. Any fiber, pollen, or seeds collected had all been traced back to the planet. Except for the epithelials.

Elizabeth continued to be concerned with the possibility of Sheppard giving up information under duress or torture and Kate being off duty didn't help.

"Do you think he did it deliberately?"

Caron had been tapping on his laptop, calling up some notes, when Elizabeth had hesitatingly posed the question. He wondered if she felt it was a slur on Sheppard's character to even suggest the possibility.

"Of course not. I was there. You read my report. It wasn't calculated. For some reason Kate's sudden movement caught him off guard. The punch was pure instinct."

"You think he'd do it again?"

"What? You mean to Kate?"

"No, I mean to anyone." By anyone, Carson surmised she meant anyone that happened to be female and human.

"God Lord, no. Absolutely not. He's been riddled with guilt ever since it happened. Whatever sparked it off was unrelated to gender, or to Kate."

"That's good then."

"Aye. I would say so."

"Did he remember something?"

"It would seem so, although there aren't any details. He can't even articulate it clearly."

"Then that still leaves us with the same problem. The one we had when he got back here. When do you think Kate can start seeing him?"

"I don't know. She's a tough wee lass but at the moment she can barely talk."

Elizabeth nodded. "We need to know what happened. Or at least report back to SGC that we've investigated all we can."

"I'm not disagreeing with you. But it may take some time."

"We may not have any time. The IOA are involved and they're demanding answers."

The way she said the last statement made Carson just the tiniest bit uneasy. Whatever the IOA had planned, he'd prefer not to be involved.

((--))

Rodney knocked on Kate's door and wondered if he shouldn't have tried to comm her before dropping by unexpectedly. He'd never visited her before, and it occurred to him that maybe he was about to commit another large social faux paus. Again.

To his astonishment, the door opened and there stood Kate Heightmeyer. Intact. Being intact was good.

"I just came over to check that you were okay." Sure he did. He didn't add the next selfish part of his sentence – I wanted to know if _you_ were okay enough to make sure _I_ was okay.

She regarded him for a minute, and then stood back from the doorway, inviting him in. "I'm okay but I'm finding it difficult to talk and my neck's a bit stiff. I thought I'd wait until I healed before I started having sessions again."

When she talked she sounded like a bad ventriloquist. Rodney observed that she was trying very hard not to move her lower lip. It was swollen. Concern rode back into town, overriding his arch enemy, selfishness.

"What happened?

"I got into an altercation. Inside of my lip got cut. It's healing."

He was outraged. "Altercation? Who with?"

"That's confidential."

No one could ever say he wasn't good at jumping to conclusions when overly excited. Usually the wrong ones, but it had never stopped him before.

"It was Sheppard wasn't it?"

She didn't say anything but the quirk of her mouth and her hiss of pain seemed to say it all. To Rodney anyway.

"Why'd he do it?"

She shook her head.

"This is ridiculous. The entire safety of Atlantis could be at stake and you're all, 'oh no, it's patient confidentiality time'. Screw that. Just tell me what happened. It might be important because the one thing he's not, is a guy who punches anyone for no good reason. Especially a woman."

Kate would have chewed her bottom lip if it didn't cause her pain. She considered Rodney a moment.

"I have a favor to ask."

"What?"

"I want you to try and talk to John. See if you can't get something out of him."

"Me! Are you crazy? I'm not trained for that."

"He trusts you. He's more likely to open up to you. I've tried sending him e-mails but he won't answer me. He needs someone to be there for him and I'm not going to be ready for at least another week. Carson's been keeping his eye on him for the past few days but… You have to get in there, Rodney."

"Do you remember who exactly you're talking to? Rodney McKay – no social skills. Remember how we talked about that? Remember how I come to your office every week and you help me with that whole talking-too-much-when-I-shouldn't problem?" Rodney began pacing because he didn't like this, not at all and besides, he wasn't entirely sure this was ethical.

"I'm not asking you to play around in his psyche, Rodney. I just want you to listen. Elizabeth is under pressure from certain elements at the IOA. Other tactics may be employed if we can't give a definitive answer."

"What in the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"They read Biro's report on the epithelials. They're not exactly thrilled with the possibility of yet another super race intent on kicking humanity's butt. We need every bit of intel we can get. We need it now before they send someone in who might not take the gentle approach when it comes to figuring out if he gave anything up."

"Crap."

"Don't panic. I'm talking it over with Elizabeth and the plan is for me to supervise. You're not doing this alone."

"This is nuts."

"Maybe. But we have to try." She winced. Her mouth was obviously beginning to play up. She'd talked enough.

Rodney didn't know what to say. Freaking IOA. Stupid alien abductors. Why was it that the inhabitants of Atlantis could never catch a break?

((--))

Three days ago, Teyla had been summoned urgently to Sheppard's bed side. It was hard to gauge his mood, but it was intensely remorseful and she wondered what had happened. He wouldn't give her details, but he'd said, "I have done something reprehensible and there's no making up for it, but I'm gonna try."

He'd sent her off on a strange mission that she didn't understand in the slightest but she wasn't one to question Sheppard and presumed there was a good reason.

The mission involved a trip to the mainland and it had taken her days of bartering to gather the necessary items. He'd left the matter of taste to her. She'd chosen a small piece of sculpture made from the local clay, a wall hanging, managed to pick up some Athosian candy. The candy bore a resemblance to chocolate but had a grittier feel and tasted more of the berry they were extracted from. She'd left the flowers until last before boarding a jumper and coming back to Atlantis.

She walked back to the infirmary with the items and he'd cheered up at the sight of her and everything she was carrying.

She put the items on the bed table, he looked at them approvingly. "I couldn't find any wrapping paper, but Marcy managed to rustle up a picnic basket for me. We can put them in there."

She glanced down by the bed. Picked up the basket and carefully laid the wall hanging in the bottom. Then placed in the sculpture and the candy as instructed.

He picked up a card lying on the table. It was plain. Pastel colors on the front. Nothing inside. She'd always thought it was peculiar that the humans had this strange custom of giving pieces of cardboard to each other. Considering the high price of paper in her village, it seemed like a complete waste of something so precious.

"You know, I never thought that when they figured we were going to a completely different galaxy, they'd feel it was necessary to include an entire box of cards for every occasion."

He carefully put the card in the envelope and tucked it in the bunch of flowers she'd tied together with string. Put the flowers into the basket, so they stuck out of one end.

"You need to do me a big favor. Sneak these down to Kate Heightmeyer's quarters."

"Sneak? Or deliver?"

"Okay, deliver."

She raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything and it was enough to make him duck his head to stare down at the blanket.

"Shit, you might as well know," he said. "I punched Kate."

"Colonel?" She kept her voice neutral.

"I don't even know what happened. I thought I saw movement, didn't know what it was. Freaked me out completely and I just reacted. Hit her in the mouth."

Teyla's eyes widened. "You did not do it deliberately."

"No! God, no. There are some things I would just never, never do and that's one of them. I don't think I could live with myself if I thought for some fucked up reason I'd done it deliberately."

"Then I am sure Kate will forgive you."

"She's tried. She sent me some e-mails. I didn't know what to say."

"So you made it worse than it all ready was."

He shrugged, picked at the blanket. "Yeah. That's why I asked you to go to the mainland. I'm hoping the basket will repair some of the damage."

"And make you feel less guilty."

"That too."

Teyla could understand the desire to be forgiven. "Of course."

((--))

Ronon was feeling abandoned of late. Teyla had headed to the mainland on an urgent mission for Sheppard, Rodney was holed up in his lab obsessing over the Maker knew what and Sheppard wouldn't see visitors, except for Teyla.

These were the times that were enough to make a man doubt the power of his antiperspirant. One of the better inventions of the human. When he was on the run from the Wraith there were some days he couldn't stand himself.

He decided that since he was bored, and Teyla had run off as soon as Sheppard had called, he was just going to have to talk to Beckett directly.

He found Beckett in his office, hunched over a laptop. He cleared his throat to get the Beckett's attention. Beckett abruptly straightened up, whirled around, taken aback to find the Satedan standing there.

"You half scared me to death!"

"Sorry about that, Doc."

As he was in the habit of doing when he didn't quite know what to do, he folded his arms and leaned against the door frame in a much practiced study of casualness.

"When is Sheppard getting out?"

"Not just yet, but he's healing up nicely. Another two days, and I can take the stitches out of his feet. Then he'll be more mobile."

"There's a rumor going around Atlantis."

"What rumor would that be?"

"That Sheppard and Heightmeyer got into a fight."

Carson seemed to be practicing keeping his face locked into a neutral expression. "Oh?"

"Yeah."

"I can't tell you anything, Ronon. That's private information."

"Sure. But if the thing you can't tell me about is true, maybe we should all be paying attention to the fact that if Sheppard pops his cork, we're in trouble."

"So you're telling me… What? That it's a symptom of something else?"

"There's a whole bunch of bad guys out there who can make people do stuff. Even when they think they're not doing it. I wouldn't want to be around when a guy with tactical training decides he needs to blow this place up."

"Any suggestions?"

"Yeah, put a guard on his door."

Ronon had said all he needed to say. He pushed himself away from the door frame, got ready to turn around and leave. He really hoped Sheppard's abductors hadn't messed with him too much because if Sheppard went rogue, Ronon wouldn't hesitate to protect Atlantis, even if that meant taking Sheppard out permanently.

((--))

Richard was peeling the gel off his back again. Marcy unwrapping his feet. The bandages had come off his ankles and wrists, leaving crusty scabs. He was used to the routine. He even managed to drop straight back to sleep after he'd been rolled over. In fact sometimes he didn't bother to wake up. Odd, since being a light sleeper due to the training and his missions was almost second nature. He'd asked Carson about his recently acquired ability to sleep soundly and Carson had told him that it was a natural reaction to stress and injury. He'd just gone with the flow as best he could but he suspected it was more that he didn't want to deal with reality. If he was asleep, he was unaware, and sometimes unawareness was the better option.

He tucked a hand under his face, felt his body cushioned by pillows and the foam used to keep his knees from knocking together or his bony ankles from getting in the way of each other. He was used to all of the indignities of being bed ridden.

Carson was in attendance this morning and the man was bordering on excitement. Apparently it was day nine and Carson was taking out the stitches one day ahead of schedule. His ulcers were starting to show signs of granulation as well. It was always funky getting stitches out, and particularly strange getting them pulled out of the base of his feet. Not that he was ticklish but the base of the foot was sensitive and every time Carson touched his feet with the scissors or the forceps, he had to fight to keep from pulling his feet away.

Carson finished by applying some surgical glue to the cuts to help protect the area and when the process was over, the only thing he wanted to do next was stand up. He was swinging his feet around before anyone had a chance to say much.

"Okay, I'm out of here," he said.

"Maybe, maybe not. It depends how much the ulcers hurt," said Carson.

"Like I'm going to care."

Richard came around, just in case Sheppard fell flat on his face and Sheppard got to his feet, swayed for a minute. But only for a minute. He waved Richard off, and experimentally put a foot forward and took a step.

"Woah. That's weird." He felt the skin stretch a tiny fraction. Nothing painful or even uncomfortable. Just strange. It was strange standing up again. He took a few more steps, got used to the sensation, and the variety of signals coming from the base of his feet. The floor is cold. The floor is smooth. The base of my heels have a dull ache but nothing I can't handle.

A few more steps and he picked up the pace, took a circuit around the room. Stopped back by the bed, grinned broadly. Freedom beckoned. An escape beckoned. He could be active and if he was active he wasn't dwelling on the fact that he'd hurt Kate, or that whatever memories he did have of his two-weeks MIA were little more than an uneasy feeling of impending disaster that he couldn't shake.

"I can get dressed right? And leave."

Carson nodded. "Yes, but I'm afraid you get to bunk down here until those ulcers are completely closed. But apart from that, get some clothes on. Your only problem is going to be pants and shoes. The waistband is going to rub on the ulcer, and so are shoes."

"I'll go bare foot if I have to."

"Are you planning on going without trousers too?"

"You know, for a guy from Scotland, you're pretty funny."

"Scotland's a naturally funny place. That's why we have the Edinburgh Fringe Festival every year." Carson pushed his stool back from the tray and did a well controlled sidle towards Sheppard's position. Sheppard was impressed. All the science and medical guys had the whole wheeled stool and chair control thing down pat. "But seriously, if the waistband of your pants sits around the small of your back, it's going to hurt, and undo all the hard work to date."

"What then?"

Richard chipped in with his own opinion. "Scrubs? It's a draw string. He can tie them around his waist."

Carson nodded. "That could work."

"I was thinking flip flops for the feet," said Richard.

Sheppard listened to the clothing and footwear suggestions and felt his credibility and coolness factor plummeting like a thermometer in the Antarctic.

He didn't care though. Anything to be out. Plenty of things to do that had been on hold for weeks. A visit to Elizabeth, just to catch up, and then he was going to take a jumper for a quick spin around the block and everything would be right with the world. He would feel less like scum. He would feel less like he was going to explode.

He wiggled his toes, like a kid who was at the beach, and didn't even think he minded having to come back to the infirmary at night.

It was good to be back to normal. Or for what counted as normal in the Pegasus galaxy.

((--))

Rodney sat in Elizabeth's office and felt like he had been summoned before the principal. He had in fact, for a nerdy child with a strong social conscience, been in trouble several times. Mainly for the destructive combination of impatience, a brain that worked at the speed of light and a penchant for chemicals that fizzed, foamed or exploded.

Elizabeth had asked him into her office for a meeting with Sheppard, who'd been released on a day pass. He'd been requested to turn up fifteen minutes early, and considering Kate's previous hints about IOA involvement, confirmed by Elizabeth, it wasn't hard to deduce that the meeting was just a way of sharing bad news in an official environment. Maybe she wanted some place that was in ear shot of the marines down in the Gate Room if Sheppard decided to throw a temper tantrum that featured violence. Or maybe it was simply the fact that Sheppard's participation was non negotiable. They could all pretend that when she gave him a direct order, they'd somehow mutually agreed to the outcome in her office, even when Sheppard bristled at an order he thought made zero sense.

He tapped the lid of his laptop, tried not to do that jerking up and down movement he did with his knee when he was desperately nervous. He didn't understand why he was here. Besides, after being told to turn up early, Sheppard was now officially late.

"Are you sure about this? " He asked Elizabeth.

"Rodney, it's going to be okay. I've got Kate on conference."

"Terrific. She can barely talk. Why is she on conference exactly?"

"Because I might want to offer the occasional comment, " Heightmeyer's voice still sounded like she was muttering through clenched teeth. Which she was.

"Well, then, why don't I leave? I'm sure between the two of you, you'll handle this just fine."

"Rodney, remember how we had that whole conversation about you providing some support to your friends?" Trust Kate to bring that up.

"I seem to remember telling you that you were nuts."

Elizabeth interrupted. "I think we need to remember why we're here in the first place. I'm sure John will appreciate the support."

Rodney wasn't convinced. "I'll think he'll just yell at us and maybe throw stuff, but what do I know?"

He went back to tapping the laptop, Elizabeth glanced at her watch and about then Sheppard rolled into the office. He looked like he was headed for the beach. Well, a heavily armed beach. Trying to wear his usual black t-shirt and jacket over a set of scrub pants wasn't working. Trying to somehow get his utility belt wrapped around his waist with the knife sheaf even less. The flip flops took the whole ensemble into the realm of the ridiculous.

Rodney burst out laughing. "Oh my God, it's GI Joe goes to Malibu!"

Sheppard narrowed his eyes. "Don't start. Lorne's squad has all ready asked me when I'd like my Fischer Price plastic binoculars delivered."

Elizabeth was trying hard not to laugh herself. Somehow she managed to suppress an outright laugh and turn it into a friendly smile.

"Come on in and grab a seat. We were just about to start."

"We were?" Rodney was always puzzled by these sorts of statements because he knew they'd all been waiting for Sheppard to turn up and Sheppard had been late. Seemed pointless to lie about it.

"Yes, Rodney. We were. Do you want to take the meeting notes or should I?"

"I've got the laptop, so it might as well be me." Great, they traveled to a whole other galaxy and he still got stuck with having to take the minutes. Although why they'd bother to take minutes about this particular meeting he didn't know. Maybe Elizabeth just wanted to keep him occupied enough that he wouldn't spend his time offering useless comments.

"Kate is on conference. You still there, Kate?"

"Yeah."

Rodney noticed that as a bonus, she'd also added a sudden case of nervousness to her muttering. Sheppard seemed taken aback that she was there as well. At least in voice.

"Oh. Hi. Um, hi. Ah, did you get my, um, stuff?"

Rodney remembered what Kate had told him and forced himself to keep his mouth shut, even as he watched Sheppard transform into a nervous fifteen-year-old right in front of his eyes.

"Yes, thank you. Teyla delivered them. The flowers were lovely."

"You know, uh, about that, uh, thing. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry, Colonel. I'll be fine and it's forgotten."

Rodney heard the slight hitch in her voice and he didn't think anyone else had noticed it but he knew Kate well enough to detect the change. In Rodney's limited world of friendships, she was what counted for an intimate relationship and consequently he knew her better than members of his own family. Although that wasn't saying much since they were, for the most part, estranged. Still, he knew by that slightest little tremor that she wasn't fine, not yet anyway.

Elizabeth was perched against the edge of her desk, trying to look casual. "John, the IOA are sending in a specialist."

Sheppard had managed to get himself seated, and was leaning forward to take the pressure off his back. "You might want to consider adding some more definition to the word. What are we talking about? Weapons specialist? Science type specialist?"

"Interrogation specialist."

Now Rodney knew why Kate was nervous – it wasn't because Sheppard landed a punch to her mouth – it was because of what the IOA had planned.

"_Excuse me_?" Sheppard looked stunned and then went to suitably outraged. "What do they think I've been doing?"

Elizabeth held up her hands, made a placating gesture. "That's his official specialty – he's been used to obtain information from Goa'uld - but we've been assured he's also been used to help retrieve memories from SGC team members."

"Wow, a guy with multiple talents." Sheppard crossed his arms.

"I don't like this any more than you do, but they're nervous about the delay. They sent through background information in the data burst and he's an expert in his field. Landry isn't exactly thrilled with him but says he's never crossed the line." Elizabeth's voice trailed off.

Sheppard stood up abruptly, and winced. "You're agreeing to this!"

Somewhere in the conversation, Rodney realized he'd stopped typing.

Elizabeth shook her head. "We never agreed to anything. Orders from the IOA via the President. Atlantis and even Earth could have been compromised. After the Ori, and the Wraith, certain factions within both parties have decided that security, above all, is paramount."

Sheppard had balled his hands into fists and seemed to be trying very hard to keep himself under control.

"Fuck that! This is fucked up."

Elizabeth kept her voice calm. Rodney always admired her for that. Her unshakeable calmness while the galaxy went to hell in a hand basket.

"Look, they're not planning to send him through the 'gate for another couple of days. He's currently working in an unnamed location. They're trying to retrieve him. That means we've got forty-eight hours or so to try and figure this out. And that means we're going to have to get creative."

"Yeah? This ought to be good." Sheppard was back to crossing his arms.

"Rodney's agreed to act as Kate's proxy."

Rodney frantically looked from Elizabeth to the enraged Sheppard. Had he? Had he really? Suddenly, he didn't remember agreeing to anything at all.

"He's signed all of the necessary confidentiality agreements and Kate's going to monitor, along with Carson."

Sheppard fixed Rodney with what Rodney had termed, "the Stare of Death". Usually reserved for people Sheppard had really come to hate. Rodney couldn't think of anything to say so he concentrated on recommencing his typing.

He felt the a hand clap onto his shoulder and squeeze. "Did you, Rodney? Did you really agree to this and sign all of the confidentiality agreements?" Sheppard had an astounding grip strength.

Rodney kept typing and tried to think of something to say, but all that ended up coming out of his mouth was an unintelligible, "Eep."

People. Rodney just didn't get them.

((--))


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Sheppard wasn't one for easily letting his emotions show through but when he was pushed into a corner, he had a tendency to fight back.

As far as he was concerned he was pretty much in a corner after being informed that if he didn't cough up some memories he either didn't have, or didn't particularly want to go and find in the first place, he'd face some 'help' compliments of a guy from Black Ops.

He'd made it adamantly clear in Elizabeth's office that he was doing it under duress, that he wanted to lodge a formal complaint, that he didn't particularly care about anyone knowing his business, that Rodney was the least qualified person in the world, the Kate could just do it by e-mail, that Kate was taking revenge and he was still sorry, that he wanted to read all of the communiqués with SGC, and in a last ditch attempt, that Carson needed to clear it medically. Having run out of steam, and arguments, Elizabeth had said, "Finished?'

"Yes," he'd replied. He was one step short of pouting.

"John, believe me, I understand. But we don't have any choice. _You_ don't have any choice. If it's not Rodney, it's the specialist. It's not much a choice but Rodney is definitely the lesser of the two evils."

"Hey!" Rodney, was, as always, insulted.

Sheppard ignored him. "Why don't you do it? Why doesn't Beckett do it?" Elizabeth, as far as he was concerned, was a better choice and so was Beckett. Hell, Lorne was a better choice.

"I'm technically your commanding officer. It's inappropriate. Beckett refused on moral grounds."

He didn't have anything else to say, presented with no escape clause and no way out. He crossed his arms, huffed, and made his next demand like a teenage boy wanting to take the car out for the night.

"I'm taking a jumper for a ride to the mainland."

"Fair enough."

He had calculated the diplomat in her would relent. Diplomats tended to work on the theory that after a solid win, a little bit of leeway was required for the sake of fairness.

"But you're taking Rodney with you," she finished.

"Great. Excellent. Whatever." Yeah, now he really did sound like a teenager. As far as dignity went, he didn't have any left, especially with the unhip mode of dressing, so he turned himself around, made a gesture to Rodney to follow, didn't bother to say goodbye to Elizabeth.

"If anyone wants us, me and Dr. McKay will be doing loops over the ocean."

"We will?" Rodney had nervously stood up and seemed reluctant to follow.

"Yeah, Rodney, we will. Don't worry, I'm sure Kate can IM to your laptop and do some virtual handholding if needed."

"Elizabeth?" Rodney hesitated; cast a long pleading look at his one hope of being let off.

"Sorry. You and John need to work out how you want to play this."

"You know, if he loses it and attempts to kill me, we'll know who to blame."

Sheppard rolled his eyeballs. "Hurry it up McKay! If I'm not out of here and in that jumper in fifteen minutes, I really will kill you."

"Fine! Kate, is he allowed to threaten me?"

"You'll be okay," replied Kate. Sheppard thought she sounded vaguely amused.

"You'd better be right," muttered Rodney.

"One day McKay, if we ever find an alien version of an orange grove when we're on a mission, I am going to abandon you in it."

Heartily sick of being ordered around by all and sundry, Sheppard departed, all too aware that his flip flops squeaked as he walked. Even his footwear conspired against him. Nobody had told him when he signed up at the tender age of eighteen that his career as a pilot would eventually be reduced to this.

As he walked down the corridors and towards the nearest transporter he could hear footsteps behind him and figured it was McKay. They stepped in together, Sheppard didn't bother to speak because he couldn't think of anything to say that didn't involve berating McKay, for the sake of berating McKay, or bitterly complaining about his lot in life. The last time he'd been in such a pissy mood, Koyla had told him that Elizabeth was dead. That hadn't exactly resulted in good times for Koyla's squad.

He was a coiled knot of tension and he didn't know how to get rid of it, except for running, but running was out and he doubted Carson was going to relent to letting him fight with Teyla. That just left flying or smoking and he didn't smoke. Although he was getting a good idea about why people did.

The transporter stopped on the same level as the hanger bay and he did his best to take some manly strides past a team of two marines on their way to some other duty station but the combination of flip flops and the scrub pants kept hampering him.

He still didn't say anything to Rodney until they reached the jumper bay where upon he headed for the first jumper in his line of sight. Reached to key open the hatch as he usually did and found it stubbornly refusing to budge. He gave the hatch a thump with his hand and tried again.

"Terrific. We've got a broken jumper." Sheppard had never seen the hatch refuse to open before.

Of course, that meant McKay's brain instantly went into problem solving mode. "Let me see."

McKay approached the jumper, placed his palm against the appropriate control. The hatch began to cycle open.

"Weird," said Sheppard. They entered the jumper together. He made his way towards the pilot seat, as per normal, sat himself down as gently as he could and hunched himself forward to avoid sitting against the back of the chair. God knows what his back was going to be like by the time they went through a flight.

Rodney sat himself down in the co-pilot's chair, gripped the laptop, and readied himself to dial up the airlock opening sequence so that Sheppard could propel the jumper into the troposphere at around mach five.

Only nothing happened.

Sheppard frowned. The jumper must have been malfunctioning. Rodney sat in the co-pilot's seat looking equally as puzzled.

"Seriously, I think the jumper's broken," said Sheppard.

"What was your first clue?" Rodney was all ready out of his seat and flipping up a control panel, examining the cards inside. He checked them over.

"Try again, the cards seems fine."

Sheppard put his hands on the console. Again, there was no response.

Rodney came back, muscled Sheppard out of the way. "Let me."

He stood up and got out of the way. "Okay, okay, I'm up. I'm up."

Rodney muttered to himself, and reached over to see if he could get anything to activate. The jumper promptly hummed into life. Lights came on, console got all shiny, as expected. The output was shaky and the jumper seemed to act like it had a massive case of indigestion, but it was working.

"That's odd," said Rodney.

"You think?"

"Hah, hah. As usual, you're fabulous with the witty comebacks."

"I've got another one too. Get out of my seat, Rodney." Today of all days, they had to have a problem with the jumper. He made up his mind that if they couldn't get this one running, they'd just have to try every single one of them until he could get out of Atlantis.

Rodney gave him a withering look. "Typical zoomie."

"You been hanging around with Lorne again?"

"Yeah, I asked him about your gaming name one day. I believe the term he used was, 'fucking zoomies' so see, I was being polite."

Rodney left the seat, went back to his co-pilot's position, Sheppard sat down and… the lights went out.

"Jesus fucking Christ on a stick!" Sheppard hit a console.

"Don't take the Lord's name in vain."

"The last time I checked you were an atheist."

"But an atheist with a great respect for all religions whether real or imaginary."

"You're a funny guy, Rodney."

"I was being serious."

"And now you need to be quiet." Sheppard put his fingers to his lips to signal that Rodney should stop talking. Rodney did as he was told. Sometimes he did actually know when he should shut up.

The jumper remained resolutely and stubbornly powered off.

Rodney frowned, stood up again and reached across to the console. It lit up. He cast a perplexed glance at Sheppard, removed his hand.

"You try."

Sheppard did as he was told, and had a bad feeling about how this little exercise in feeling up the jumper was going to turn out.

The lights died. Sheppard wasn't used to this at all. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and did something he'd never had to do. Concentrate hard. He imagined all sorts of things. He imagined the jumper coming to life. He imagined the controls activating. He imagined the jumper soaring into the clouds. It was strange because up until now operating Ancient technology had been completely instinctual for him. Like breathing.

Nothing.

"Shit," said Sheppard.

"No kidding," replied McKay. He hit the comms button on his radio. "Elizabeth, it's Rodney. I think we've got a problem."

Of course, they'd both forgotten all about the laptop. Kate was indeed trying to IM. Rodney held it out for him to see. The screen started displaying an annoying series of question marks.

"Don't ask me," said Rodney.

((--))

By the time they hit the lab, McKay was officially worried. Kate was worried too by the way she kept sending him the same message. The message that said, "What's going on?"

"Can't talk now Kate, but I'll leave the channel open. I promise," he said over the radio and earned a dirty look from Sheppard.

Rodney grabbed a box, threw its contents over the workbench. A variety of harmless Ancient artifacts scattered in all directions. They sat on the bench, inert and inactive.

"Okay, pick one up and see what happens."

Sheppard approached the bench, seemed overly cautious, and hesitated before reaching out and picking up the nearest object to hand. Rodney recognized it immediately as his least favorite item. A toy. An annoying one at that. Once activated it proceeded to ask the holder's name, and then tell jokes. In Ancient. Occasionally it would let out a syrupy giggle that would ruin the insulin levels of anyone within a two meter radius and it would _not _shut up until dropped.

"You picked that one deliberately."

"If you mean, 'because it annoys you' then yes. It was deliberate."

Sheppard held the device and McKay waited for the cloyingly cute voice to start lisping questions at Sheppard in a language Sheppard didn't understand.

The device remained silent. Nor did it start glowing its comforting shade of nursery blue.

"Try another one," said McKay, trying to be encouraging.

Sheppard did as he was told, picked up another device. The one that projected star charts on the nearest wall. Again, nothing. The pilot began working his way through the devices, one by one and all remained inert and dead.

"Maybe you're not concentrating hard enough." McKay was trying to offer advice because he could sense Sheppard's increasing frustration.

"I _am_ concentrating!" With that Sheppard took his current gadget and threw it – hard – against the nearest wall.

"Temper, temper." McKay tried for a joke because when Sheppard was in one of his foul moods – a mood he rarely showed – it was not the time to antagonize him further.

The pilot's shoulder's sagged. "I'm trying. I'm really trying. But that's the entire point: I never used to have to try. It used to just happen."

Sheppard sat down on the nearest stool, resting his face in his hands. He stared at the Ancient tech and it seemed to Rodney the man didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Rodney didn't know what to do either.

"I only got this gig because of the A.T.A gene."

"That's bullshit and you know it." McKay tried countering with a lie in an attempt to be kind and cheer Sheppard up but it was the wrong sort of lie. Of course everyone knew that Sheppard originally got on the expedition because Elizabeth had pushed for his presence. O'Neill had been reluctant, SGC had been reluctant, hell even Sheppard had been reluctant. When they'd been bored witless waiting for an opportunity to dial the 'gate on some backwater planet, Sheppard had let slip he'd decided to join the expedition based on the toss of a coin. Rodney couldn't imagine doing something so randomly idiotic. For Rodney, going to the Pegasus galaxy was a dream come true. A terrifying, stomach churning, nerve wracking opportunity but one nonetheless. He'd made a carefully considered choice based on weighing up his options of winning a Noble Prize, against the opportunities for real research in another galaxy. Everyone knew that Nobel Prizes were handed out when the scientist in question was way past doing his best work and Rodney had always had his suspicions that it was a popularity contest. After all, Stephen Hawking didn't have a Noble Prize. So he'd opted for another galaxy. Weighing up his options had meant a long day building an Excel spreadsheet with a list of advantages and disadvantages and assigning them weightings and then making a graph. It did not involve tossing a coin.

"Let's be realistic here. If I'm not cleared for full duty and I can't make Ancient technology go, what exactly am I going to be doing around here?" Sheppard poked his finger at another dead gadget.

Rodney felt himself beginning to panic. He didn't understand why Kate had asked him to do this and he still didn't. He wondered if Sheppard had forgotten about the radio being open, or whether he didn't think his comments were enough for anyone to read anything into.

"Paperwork. There's always paperwork." A neutral statement. That always worked. He thought. Or maybe not. He tried to think of what Kate did when he was being his usual nihilistic self and proclaiming that he was doomed, that Atlantis was doomed, that in fact the entire galaxy was doomed simply because he hadn't been able to get his morning coffee. She usually told him to stop over reacting and made him take a deep breath and realize that not having a cup of coffee didn't mean he was three easy steps away from universal destruction.

"That's comforting," said Sheppard.

"Are you any good at it?"

"Of course not. No one's good at paperwork. I only do paperwork because it's part of my job description. The only people good at paperwork get wound up about whether a full-stop was accidentally left out on page sixty-five."

His laptop was beginning to get covered in little sentences that indicated Kate would be no good at paperwork either, judging by her woeful lack of vowel and full stop use. Honestly, could it hurt to use a comma?

"U r dng gd Rdny. Keep it up."

Seemed Kate had gone to the same school of lousy typing as Sheppard.

"We don't know why this is happening yet, and I bet in the end, it's nothing." That sounded good and Rodney believed it, which made the statement sound sincere.

"This from the man who insisted he should be pushed in a gurney to sickbay because he had a splinter in his thumb."

"What's that supposed to imply?"

"You're a hopeless liar, McKay. When you say something really terrible is going to happen, I know you can fix it, and it's nothing. When you say 'it's nothing', it usually means that something's about to unexpectedly blow up, or melt because you didn't think the problem was serious."

Rodney spluttered. "Hey, that's …."

"Completely accurate?"

"No! I was going to say that it's completely wrong and a slur on my character."

"Sue me."

"Don't tempt me."

"How are you planning on fixing this?"

"Me?"

"Yes, McKay. You."

Rodney looked around at all the thoroughly dormant Ancient tech, and shrugged. He was stumped. It didn't happen often, but sometimes it did happen.

"Malfunctioning jumpers, computers, stargates and Ancient technology I can fix. I'm not so sure about people."

The IM window on his laptop started up again. "Nt so gd."

"Kate, you're not exactly being helpful," said Rodney.

Sheppard raised an eyebrow as he wasn't party to both sides of the conversation. Rodney tried to do what he did best. Assemble the assorted pieces.

"Well, I guess it isn't too much of a leap to figure out that this sudden lack of an ability to use Ancient technology and your abduction somehow goes together."

Sheppard used his finger to roll the Ancient toy around on the table. "No shit Sherlock."

Rodney hesitated before delivering his own reply. His laptop screen carried another message.

"kp gng. C if he cn tlk bout wht hppned."

"Um, Kate wants me to ask you if you remember anything about what happened."

Sheppard didn't stop rolling the toy around, in fact he picked up the pace, smacking the device into the others lying around. Reminding Rodney of a kid crashing his Matchbox collection of cars into each other. He was going to open his mouth again because he never was able to stand silence when Kate seemed to anticipate.

"Wait. Lt hm answr in hs own tme."

So he shut his mouth again. Wondered what to do, thought if the silence kept up he'd take to playing a game of Solitaire on his laptop.

"I… kind of remember."

Rodney put down the PC stylus. Okay, this was where he was sure it was all going to go wrong. He'd say something unsuitable and Sheppard would lose it completely and it'd be all his fault. He'd fail again. Kate should never have asked him to do this.

"Um, what do you remember?"

Sheppard kept his head down, stopped rolling the toy around. Instead, he picked it up, clutching it in his hand. "Mostly it's sounds. The sounds of someone walking around. I think." He concentrated hard on the toy, seemingly lost in its observation. "I think there's more but, it's… Not right. I just don't know how to describe it. You know, part of me thinks if I concentrate, I would remember, but I'm not sure if that's a good idea."

Rodney didn't know what to say. He was first-rate at many things but comfort, support and interacting with people wasn't one of them.

"Wl dne."

He wished Kate would quit typing. It was distracting.

"Now what?" The question was to Kate, not to Sheppard. Sheppard misunderstood him.

"We both get embarrassed and pretend this never happened?"

"Sounds like a plan to me," replied Rodney. Because it did. We are men, let us never speak of these things again. Besides, he didn't know if there was more he could do. Kate really needed to be here, this was out of his realm of understanding.

"Tl hm to wrte it dwn."

"Kate says you should write it down."

Sheppard shook his head adamantly. "I'm not going there." Then he seemed to reconsider. "Look, I know everyone's worried about Atlantis. I'm worried to and I know I should be more cooperative, and I know I should do this, but… You know, I'm fairly sure that Atlantis is okay. Really. I don't think this is a problem." He stopped, got a pathetic look on his face that Rodney was fairly familiar with. Sheppard was scared to death and he was never going to admit it.

And because Rodney knew just how incredibly painful it could be, twisting on the hook of your own mind numbing fear, he decided right then and there to make an executive decision.

"Maybe you should go and see Beckett. He's good at fixing people. Physically I mean. Then we could try and figure out the other stuff."

"Rdney? Dnt stp now."

"Seriously, I'm not good at this."

Sheppard brightened somewhat, having been provided with an excuse to leave. He slipped back into familiar behavior. "Well, thanks, Rodney. You've been really, _really _helpful." The sarcastic tone to Sheppard's voice said that he didn't really, really think Rodney had been helpful at all.

"Okay. I cn't mke u 2 sty thre. Gd strt anywy. Wll dne."

Rodney read the screen, pretended he hadn't seen it.

Sheppard scowled at him, pushed himself away from the table. "I'll go and see Beckett. Again."

Rodney watched as Sheppard stalked out of the lab, waited until the door closed to have a conversation with Kate. "What exactly is your plan, Heightmeyer?"

This time she spoke to him with her own voice, using the radio. "That you keep an eye on him, let him know you're there, and that he can rely on you. You did well."

"He's scared to death, Kate. Maybe pushing him isn't such a good idea," said Rodney.

"We don't have much choice. That IOA specialist is going to get the answers whether Sheppard likes it or not. The trick is to push enough that he'll remember without going off the deep end."

"Oh, nice. There's something to look forward to."

"He trusts you. That's a start."

"Is he going to feel the same about me after this?" Rodney was getting huffy.

Kate changed the subject. "I'll talk to Elizabeth about trying to get him some duties that don't involve paperwork."

Rodney shook his head even though there was no one to see the gesture. "I wish I knew why he can't operation Ancient technology any more. Can't be great, considering he's a natural user."

"It also can't be great thinking he's only here because of the fact he can use Ancient technology."

"Oh. He did kind of say that, didn't he?"

He didn't hear her voice again, but a message appeared on the laptop screen.

"Yes. Undrneth it all, he's probably as inscre as u r."

Rodney read the sentence and laughed. Yeah, right. Sheppard may be a lot of things but insecure wasn't one of them. Not in a million years.

((--))

Elizabeth had encountered enraged generals, pushy senators, upset prime ministers, blame shifting IOA members and more than a few hundred sycophantic aides in her time. She'd never been fazed by them. She was courteous but she was no pushover and their titles held no meaning for her. Good diplomats realized whether someone ruled a country or dug a ditch for a living, everyone had to eat, go to the bathroom, sleep, and eventually die. It was a great leveler.

Meeting someone who came from a Black Ops background was an entirely different matter. She stood before the stargate, the wormhole active, nervously waiting to greet their visitor. The reason for his trip had been classified. Mostly to stop gossip spreading through Atlantis but also to protect his real identity. As if anyone on Atlantis would have a chance to blab about the secret anyway but that was the way with covert operatives. They were paranoid about everything.

She half expected him to be wearing a black trench coat.

The figure that stepped through the event horizon however, completely defied her expectations. A perfectly normal human being appeared, dressed casually in jeans, sneakers and a jacket, baseball cap perched on his head. He looked like he was in his sixties, the hair she could see peeking from his cap was heading towards silver. A neat, salt and pepper moustache completed the look.

He was wheeling a large suitcase behind him, like he was heading off on a vacation in Barbados.

The man deftly let go of the handle on the suitcase, making sure it stayed upright and then shook her hand, warmly. Smiled at her.

"Hello, you must be Dr. Elizabeth Weir. I've heard so much about you."

She was totally knocked off center and she knew that had presumably been the tactic. He probably figured she was waiting for some intimidating character who could have escaped from _The X-Files_.

"Yes, welcome. Welcome to Atlantis. Dr…?"

His smile didn't drop but she got a hint that he knew he'd accomplished his first task. Taken her completely by surprise.

"I'm not big on formalities Dr. Weir. You can call me Royce."

"Is that a first name, or a last name?"

"It can be whatever you want it to be."

Several of the marines who usually guarded the Gate Room were staring at Royce in open amazement. He was incompatible with the rest of his surroundings. He noticed them and waved at them.

"Just popped in for a visit. General Landry asked me to do an efficiency report on the current usefulness of the armed services in Atlantis!"

The marines startled, and scampered back to their posts. Elizabeth thought that if Royce was doing this as camouflage, he was doing a damn good job. Blending in by standing out. Or in Royce's case fitting in very nicely with the rest of the scientific community by resembling a nerd.

"Dr. Weir, is there some place we can talk in private?"

"Yes, I have an office."

She led the way, and he bumbled his way up the stairs with his suitcase, looking so useless as the case smashed against the steps that a woman scientist walking by actually stopped and helped him carry it up the stairs.

He was good.

Once in her office, she'd closed the doors and she expected the act to drop. When it didn't she wasn't sure if she was witnessing the greatest acting feat of all time, or whether he really was like this. But he couldn't be like this, because no terrorist in any universe past or present was going to give away information to such a thoroughly non-scary human being.

"General Landry passed on Colonel Sheppard's file to me and your report. It's not a good situation is it?"

There wasn't much she could say to that loaded question. "No. It's not good."

Royce patted his suitcase. It was a commercial brand, readily available and kind of battered. It had seen its share of travel in a cargo hold. "I was on another job when I got the call. I traveled forty-eight hours just to get here. You wouldn't believe how long I had to spend waiting around for a connecting flight in Germany. But that's the military for you. The more urgent the matter, the worse the transport situation."

"I'm surprised they didn't try to beam you out."

"Couldn't. Everything's out of Earth orbit at the moment. It was C-130s for me and some other bone crunching modes of aircraft."

Elizabeth clasped her hands together to make sure she didn't give away too much in her body language. "Royce, I understand the IOA's concerns but I can't stress to you enough that I don't think their actions are appropriate."

He nodded, as if in agreement. "Oh, I quite understand but I wouldn't worry. I'm not here to torture him. I'd never do that. I just have some tricks and techniques up my sleeve that might clear up the mystery. I mean, I'm presuming you haven't made any more progress?"

"No, he hasn't remembered anything, if that's what you mean."

"Anything else happen?"

She didn't reply immediately because just how was she going to fill Royce in on the fact that Sheppard had punched Kate, and at the moment seemed unable to operate any Ancient technology?

"I'm going to take it from the way you just hesitated, that I don't have the full story."

He didn't say the sentence menacingly. It was innocently stated but Elizabeth knew that he expected her to fill him in. She had the same choices as Sheppard in this. None. She sighed and started talking.

((--))

Carson was hanging out in Sheppard's room at the infirmary, playing Battleships. The old fashioned kind featuring the tacky plastic game board and the latest addition, the sounds of explosions. Someone had apparently received it as a gag gift in a care package from a friend. It had been doing the rounds ever since and had wound up in the infirmary along with last year's magazines, three battered Stephen King novels, a magnetic Sudoku set, a magnetic chess set and a magnetic checkers set. They sat in a cupboard in the nurses' station and were employed as entertainment for bored patients who were banned from using their laptops and radios when they were supposed to be recovering.

Sheppard was actually doing well physically, and that was something Carson was grateful for. The ulcers weren't healing at a cracking pace, but ulcers never did and he was pleased that they were slowly and surely closing up. Ulcers that never healed had a nasty habit of generating a host of other serious, life threatening problems.

"C-nine," said Sheppard. He was drumming his fingers on the bed table.

"God damn it. There goes my carrier." Beckett stuck the last plastic peg in the plastic ship.

Sheppard grinned at him. Beckett had so far only managed to hit a couple of Sheppard's ships but not sink them.

It was a lazy day in the infirmary. A rare occurrence. No other patients, no surgery scheduled, case work all cleared up, notes filed, nothing much brewing in the way of research and besides, he'd grown thoroughly sick and somewhat despondent of his Wraith research. They kept reverting back and it was exasperating that he couldn't keep them stable in human form long enough. There was also the added bonus of the fact that any Wraith he managed to convert bitterly resented him by about day three of discovering what he'd done. He kept thinking they'd be grateful for being 'cured' but they never were. He was beginning to think he should change his name to Dr. Frankenstein.

Anyway, slow day, and he wasn't dashing around in his usual mode of panic with zero sleep, so he'd decided to catch up with Sheppard. Mainly because he wondered if Kate was making any progress with her odd-ball plan to somehow get Rodney to act as her surrogate.

He wasn't entirely sure it was effective, mainly because not only had Sheppard remembered nothing, he seemed to be more anxious, not less. In fact, he seemed to be spending far more time in the infirmary room than in his own room or office. Sheppard had the perfect excuse though – he'd stated that all the chairs were too uncomfortable and aggravated his ulcer. He'd taken to doing most of his loathed paperwork and correspondence while sitting up in bed.

Carson didn't mind since that meant Sheppard was actually getting a well earned rest for a change. It was just a pity it wasn't ramping down the man's tension levels any. The fingers were still drumming on the bed table and Carson doubted he was even aware of the action. Carson suspected that he was temporarily hiding in the room in a subconscious attempt to not to be on guard all of the time.

"How are you and Rodney going? Any luck?"

Sheppard stopped drumming his fingers. "Nope." He didn't elaborate, clearly indicating to Carson that the topic of conversation was essentially closed.

"You know, he is trying."

"I'd agree with you on that," said Sheppard, taking what Carson had said and turning it into a McKay oriented insult.

Carson decided to try and push, if only for a moment. "The specialist isn't going to take 'no' for an answer."

Sheppard bit his lip, seemed to be convincing himself to stay, rather than walking out immediately. "Don't you think I don't know that? I _tried_, Carson. Just fucking drop it."

Carson nodded, put a smile on his face and swiftly changed the subject. "Okay, no problems. By the way, Dr. Biro reconfirmed what we all ready knew. Your DNA does not show any signs of additions, deletions or modifications. Especially not associated with the A.T.A gene."

"That's not helpful."

"Are you telling me that you want someone to have altered your DNA?"

Sheppard sighed in frustration. "_No_. But at least if we had that, it would be an explanation of sorts." He went back to drumming his fingers.

Carson considered a minute, wondered how to broach the next topic to hand.

"I've noticed that you seem to be a wee bit tense of late." He figured that was about as neutral as he could be on that subject.

"I'd be less tense if certain individuals would let me run."

"Not until you've healed up some more. I can compromise and let you ride that damned stationary bike that's rusting away to an early death in the gym."

"That's because as far as stationary bikes go, it's uncool. I wouldn't be seen dead on it."

"What is it with soldiers and appearances?"

"Hey, our reputations are all we have."

"There's the stair climber."

"Slightly more cool but not by much. Besides, Cadman will get pissed off if I use it. Her name's all over it."

'Oh. I didn't know she used the stair climber."

"The woman has a butt you could bounce quarters off. How could you not notice?"

Then Sheppard realized what he'd said, in the presence of Cadman's sort-of-boyfriend. It was also probably a tad unprofessional in terms of Sheppard's position as commanding officer. Always a tricky one that – men and women serving together and trying to keep the relationships completely professional. But men tended to be men and they were occasionally going to make the less than thoughtful comment. Besides, Carson figured it could almost be counted as a compliment. Sort of.

"Sorry about that," said Sheppard. He looked suitably contrite and Carson didn't think he was faking.

"That's okay, Colonel. I won't take offense. I don't think she would either. Just don't tell her I said that." He moved onto other things. "I've been in e-mail conference with Kate. She wanted me to float the idea of you trying out a short course of Xanax."

"Xanax. You're kidding me. Right?"

"No. It's specifically designed as an anti-anxiety drug and you have to admit you're definitely anxious."

"No I'm not."

"You punched Kate. You avoid talking about what happened to you."

"Okay, okay. Maybe I'm a teeny bit wound up."

"Just consider it. You seem to be managing at the moment. Just. But if it gets any worse, Kate's going to get me to write out the 'scrip. We'd be expecting you to take them."

Sheppard ran a hand through his hair, did a very good job at appearing composed. "I'm not going to deny I'm agitated. But you know, I'll cope. I'll always do."

Carson nodded. He wasn't going to harp on to make a point. He'd put the idea out there, and if they went down that path, at least neither party was unprepared.

They were about to go back to their game of Battleships when they were interrupted.

"Hi there. Hope I'm not disturbing you. My name is Royce."

((--))


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Sheppard's first reaction upon seeing Royce was to wonder who'd given a retired fly-boy a chance to do a curiosity tour of Atlantis. The t-shirt that proclaimed _VF-151 Vigilantes_ was a dead giveaway as was the terrifically cool insignia of the skull with the flaming knife stuck between its teeth. So was the baseball cap emblazoned with _USS Midway_. It begged for someone to ask the guy to recount his life as a squadron pilot being catapulted off the deck in an F-4B Phantom.

"Hey, sorry to interrupt your game. Dr. Weir said you were down here." Royce wandered into the room, seemingly unperturbed that both men were staring at him.

"Sorry, who are you again?" That was Beckett, phrasing the question as politely as possible.

"Good point." Royce dug around in his jacket pocket. "I've got my orders around here somewhere." He patted himself down some more, pulled out a sheet of paper and a plastic ID. "I'm the IOA specialist."

He handed the ID and the paper over to Sheppard, and Sheppard glanced at it and put it down on the bed. There didn't seem much point in checking the orders out. If the guy was undercover, the credentials were hardly going to be real. Although the signature from General Landry looked authentic.

"If you're expecting me to shake your hand, you're going to be waiting a long time," said Sheppard. Might as well start the relationship off on the right foot.

"Don't expect you too. I wouldn't. Especially not under these conditions."

Beckett placed the game on the bed and stood up. He came up to Royce's shoulder, if he was lucky, but God love him, like a hugely determined West Highland Terrier, Beckett got himself between Royce and the bed.

"I'm the CMO of Atlantis and by the way, I'm a civilian, and I don't think you'll be coming anywhere near my patient without the say so from me."

Sheppard held his breath, waiting for this Royce guy to take offense and kill Beckett where he stood. Instead, Royce just laughed and patted Beckett on the shoulder. Somehow, Royce made the gesture patronizing.

"Damn right Dr. Beckett. Normally, I'd have to agree with you but unfortunately for the duration of my visit, Colonel Sheppard falls under my jurisdiction. It's either me or Sheppard gets a court martial."

Beckett, when he wanted to, was excellent at the whole moral indignity thing. "That's outrageous! I'll be filing a formal complaint with Elizabeth and SGC."

"Exactly what I'd do. Doesn't get around the whole problem though, and quite frankly, I'd rather you stuck around to help out. I like to have a medic around as backup but I can go solo if I have too."

Poor Carson gave all the appearance of having a meltdown right where he stood. "I'm going to my office to make a call and I'll be right back. I'll expect you to be gone." He turned to face Sheppard. "I'm going to have a private chat with Elizabeth. If he comes anywhere near you, press the call button."

Royce seemed to be trying hard to hide his amusement. "I'm not going to do anything right now, Dr. Beckett. I'm just here to introduce myself. That's all."

Carson didn't have any choice after that. He left the room, muttering to himself as he went. That left Royce and Sheppard in the same room together.

Royce had his hands shoved casually back into his jacket pockets, body language carefully neutral. Sheppard occupied himself by picking up Beckett's game board and checking out where his one ship was hiding out.

"Should I tell the doctor that on top of having an operative in his infirmary, his patient cheats?"

Sheppard put the board down. "He's sunk anyway. I've still got all of my pieces."

Royce cast around, saw the stool, grabbed it and sat down. Sheppard figured he was trying to reduce the intimidating aspects of looming over the bed.

"Okay, so you don't want me here, I'm not exactly that thrilled to know I'm in another galaxy, although it beat where I was two days ago, hands down. I'm here to help out and I should add that General Landry made it very clear what he would do to me if I stepped over the line."

That wasn't exactly making him feel any better about the guy. Especially a guy who looked like one of his father's poker buddies.

"Should I be worried about the whole stepping over the line thing?"

"Not really. I don't make it a habit when I'm helping out the good guys."

"But no such qualms with the bad guys."

"Not particularly."

"Nice to know you have your ethics sorted out."

Royce didn't let much out at that comment, just shrugged. "Doesn't pay to indulge in a complicated ethical debate in my job. Good guys get the star treatment, bad guys get their asses kicked so the good guys can keep going."

"My father would have loved you," said Sheppard. Because he would have. His father had also been fond of John Wayne movies, although he'd never figured out when he was growing up whether his father liked them for the machismo or because he thought they were funny. The movie _Green Berets_ reduced his father to hysterical laugher every time he watched it.

Why exactly, was he even thinking about his father, of all people, at this particular point in his life?

"Probably not. The brass never did like Black Ops much. All that sneaking around out of their line of sight tends to make them nervous," said Royce.

Sheppard shifted around in the bed, trying to get more comfortable. He'd been lying down too long and it was probably time to get up and at least go for a walk before he turned into an unathletic blob or got deep vein thrombosis or whatever the hell else Carson kept talking about. He thought he should probably pay more attention when Carson talked about medical matters, but mostly he either checked out the pretty nurses, or idly wondered about what they were serving in the cafeteria for lunch.

"You know, I tried. But I don't remember. I don't think there's anything there." It was a tiny lie.

"You're probably right. I'm just here to confirm that assertion."

Sheppard wondered whether Royce was going to give up and go away anytime soon. "This had better not count as my vacation time."

Royce grinned. "Definitely not. Although, to make up for the fact that neither of us wants to be here, I did break some regs. I snuck two six packs into my luggage."

Sheppard perked up a bit at the news. If Royce was trying to buy his way into his affections, he was making an excellent start.

"Really? What brand?"

"VB and Heineken. The VB is an Aussie favorite. Bit more of a backbone than the US domestics."

"You got Australian beer?"

"I can get anything I like. That's the one small advantage of my job."

Sheppard's brain hatched a plan that wasn't entirely thought the whole way through but seemed to involve drinking Royce's beer before trying to sneak off Atlantis and hiding out until Royce was forced to give up. He figured if he asked the right people, like Ronon and Teyla, they'd have some great places for a slightly paranoid team leader to hide.

"Cans or bottles?" These were important questions for Sheppard, who thought putting beer into cans was akin to putting wine into cardboard casks.

"Bottles of course. Do I look like a heathen?"

This was getting weirder. "You're very accommodating for a guy who specializes in reducing people's brains to oatmeal."

"Bad guys get the oatmeal treatment. Good guys just get dry cleaning."

For some reason, caught unawares by the equally sarcastic reply, he laughed. Laughing at a comment from his supposed tormentor to be wasn't on the agenda. Crap, but this guy was good. Thoughts of figuring out a way to escape flittered through his mind again.

Royce seemed to have his own game plan. Either that or he was telepathic.

"Well, I'm planning on getting a tour of Atlantis before we get started. I was thinking you could show me around."

"When you say, 'get started' when exactly were you planning on that?"

"Tonight. You show me around, we get something to eat. I make sure you don't suddenly depart on me. At some point I dish out the beer ."

There went that particular game plan. "You don't trust me? I thought I was one of the good guys."

"Good guys are just as good as escaping as the bad guys. Had a few prospective customers get spooked and make a run for it. Luckily we found them."

'That's not very comforting."

"Wasn't meant to be." Royce continued to wear an increasingly annoying smile on his face, one that said he wasn't a man to lose his temper easily or often. Sometimes a man in total control was an even scarier prospect. When they did show their hand it was always a calculated move and one to keep their opposition guessing, not to give away any advantage.

They were interrupted by Carson's reappearance. By the scowl on his face, the tête-à-tête with Elizabeth hadn't altered the proposed course of events.

"What did Dr. Weir say?" Royce shifted his attention to Beckett, the same bemused expression on his face.

"She said I was to help in anyway I could but I was quite entitled to remove myself completely from this case."

Carson was so thoroughly pissed off, Sheppard could distinctly see a vein standing out on one of his temples, and Sheppard had never seen that before. Carson may have panicked when thrust into a mission but when it came to medical matters, when there were injured people everywhere, Carson turned into a thoroughly determined human being.

"But of course," responded Royce. "However, I'm guessing that you're going to stick around because that's the type of person you are, Dr. Beckett. A professional with integrity. I admire you for that."

Beckett scowled at him. "I wouldn't take anything you say as a compliment. When did you plan on starting?"

"Tonight. The Colonel and I discussed it. In the interim, he's taking me for a guided tour of Atlantis. Right?"

"Anything for you," Sheppard said and added a mock salute. Then he wondered if he could take Royce in a fight. Royce was large and bulky and would probably knock him flat, but Sheppard was wiry and limber and sometimes it was the wiry guys that could manage to twist their way out of a situation.

Beckett immediately dropped the anger and went back to his primary method of operation. Concern. Sheppard started hauling his ass off the bed, and Carson was there with the usual litany of orders. He'd had his feet tucked under a blanket and with the blanket off, cold air hit them. He wondered if he could get some socks and cut the toes out. Then he could wear those ridiculous flip flops without his feet getting chilly. Then he berated himself mentally for turning into a wimp of late. In Afghanistan he'd spent one afternoon in a tent with a medic when his toes were verging on frostbite and he hadn't thought much of it. A few years in Atlantis and he was pondering socks. At this rate he'd morph into McKay.

"I know I keep telling you this Colonel, but don't over do it. If your heels start to give you any bother, come back here or go and sit down somewhere. I don't want all of our hard work undone."

"Yes, mother."

"That's enough lip out of you, you daft bugger." Beckett's tone said that he wasn't really that upset. He didn't reserve the same kind tone for Royce. "Don't wear him out."

"Didn't plan on it."

Sheppard and Royce headed out of the infirmary together and Sheppard tried to pretend that Royce wasn't sent over to poke around in his brain. Maybe the original feeling that Royce looked like one of his father's poker buddies was the way to go. Just pretend he was here for a visit, that he'd been ordered to show him around and that this anonymous man would go away in a couple of days, go report back that John Sheppard, wayward adolescent and thorn in his father's side, had actually redeemed himself.

((--))

Rodney was in Kate's office, playing with the executive kinetic toy - Newton's Cradle - that she kept on her desk. He couldn't believe she had one and the toy continually fascinated him, even if it was expressing one of the most fundamental principles of physics that Rodney had understood when he was all of eight. That and the fact that he found the rhythmic clicking of the metal balls soothing.

He fired the metal ball at the end of the row, watched the force being transmitted down the line to the ball at the end.

"Rodney, can you stop playing with that for five minutes and concentrate?"

Kate's mouth was giving her less pain and she'd summoned him to the office to talk over their next plan of action. Rodney was hoping that it involved not having to talk to Sheppard any more about the swamp he was passing off as his conscious mind. Besides, Sheppard was excellent at evasion. Rodney would try to ask a question, Sheppard would change the topic and before he knew it, they'd spent two-hours discussing how exactly Annakin Skywalker got seduced to the dark side so quickly, when there didn't seem to be that much on offer.

"You know, psychology is even more a voodoo science than medicine. I can't believe you talked me into this." He stopped the metal balls in mid-clack and went and sat on the couch.

"Voodoo schmoodoo. If you thought it was completely useless, you wouldn't have turned up here every week since we got to Atlantis."

Caught out. As always. He didn't reply, but decided to change the subject. Kate had been on a slightly short fuse since the punch to her mouth, and he didn't blame her. Still, his geek brain was beginning to wonder if he wasn't in the middle of one large conspiracy that he didn't entirely understand. Something Elizabeth and Kate had been working on together. If he told Kate she would probably accuse him of being paranoid. Again.

"Why did you call me down here anyway? I have some work to do. Cooper's been complaining about that idiotic signal again."

"I thought you said it was random."

"It is. Well, at least it appears to be random. I haven't had enough time to sit down and confirm it. Cooper's too lazy to do the work himself."

"Rodney, weren't you the one that asked Cooper to clear all anomalous traffic through you?"

"Yes."

"Then don't complain when people do as they're told. You can't complain that they won't make independent decisions when you've ordered them not to."

"Okay, fine. I'll stop being mean to Cooper, even though he deserves it."

"That's great. Let me know how it goes."

"Now we've got Cooper figured out, back to the other question. Why am I here?"

"Elizabeth says the interrogation specialist arrived."

That made him pay attention. "Really?"

"Yes, really. Carson said they're wandering around Atlantis. Something about a guided tour. Maybe you should go and accidentally bump into them."

"Are you asking me to spy on them?"

"Yes. That's exactly what I'm asking. Try and play this one without being obvious."

"Did anyone tell you that you're overly bossy?"

"All the time. Especially when someone's messing around with one of us."

"And by us, you mean anyone in Atlantis?"

"Exactly."

Rodney thought she had a point, but it was odd to realize that they saw themselves less as citizens of planet Earth and more as Atlanteans. They really had come back and inherited the mantle left behind by the Ancients.

((--))

They'd wound up on a balcony, looking out to the ocean and Royce had taken a deep breath, inhaling the unique scent of brine, and water borne life.

"Reminds me of Fiji," said Royce. "A white sand beach and it'd be complete."

Royce dug around in his pockets, pulled out a cigar, and Sheppard didn't even blink. Royce entire demeanor said that he was a cigar smoker. He'd all ready clipped the end off and that seemed to confirm that he'd been planning all of his moves since stepping through the 'gate. He gestured towards Sheppard. "You want one?"

Sheppard shook his head. "No thanks. Never acquired the habit."

"Good thing too. Although I always thought the occasional stogie was slightly less disgusting than a two pack a day habit."

Royce lit up the cigar, took some rapid puffs to get it going. Then he inhaled deeply, blew the smoke out again. The unique smell of cigar tobacco and the sea combined and Sheppard suddenly and inexplicably remembered the last summer vacation his family had. The one before everything had started going wrong. In a run down beach house they'd rented for a month, the sand right outside the door, plenty of other kids running around. He'd made friends the first day he was there. He'd spent most of his days outside, making sand castles, flying kites, trying to catch crabs. In those days packs of unsupervised children could happily roam wherever they wanted to without much fear of anything. He never came back until the sun was starting to merge with the horizon and when he entered, his father was always in the same place. Sitting on the balcony, smoking a cigar, quietly contemplating the darkening sky line and listening to the waves hit the shore.

For a long as he could remember, he'd always wished he could have that time back, even though the adult part of him knew it could never happen again. What was done, was done. The past dead and buried.

Royce was regarding him with a slightly curious look, and he continued to inhale on the cigar, exhaling slowly and appreciatively, even blowing a smoke ring or two.

Sheppard decided he was bored with this particular tourist spot. He glanced at his watch. "We should go. I haven't taken you up into the heat exchange towers yet."

Royce's attentions were focused on the ocean. "Elizabeth probably has a policy against smoking indoors."

"Atlantis has excellent air conditioning. She won't even know."

"Anyone would think you were anxious to get this over and done with."

He shrugged. What he was anxious about was getting off the balcony and away from bitter sweet childhood memories. "I just figured you'd want to be on your way."

It was Royce's turn to shrug. "Not every day I get an opportunity to admire an alien ocean. It's very pretty by the way."

Sheppard nodded, turned away from the sight and headed back inside. He vaguely wondered if perhaps Royce knew more about him than one person should. Wouldn't have been hard to run a background check, do the research, tease out the various strands of his life and for Royce to use it to his advantage. If Royce was anywhere near decent at his job, that would explain the casual clothing, the cigars, the subtle reminders of life back on Earth.

It didn't provide any comfort, and Royce could come along or not. He just wanted to get back to the unexciting décor of Atlantis, where there were virtually no reminders of the life he'd left back on Earth.

((--))

Rodney decided he would be no good as a spy. He'd been unable to locate Sheppard and Royce and he'd spent hours walking around Atlantis trying to find them. His attempts at locating them had consisted of a combination of the Life Signs Detector and asking people. His inquiries usually resulted in the answer, "You just missed 'em". He was sick of traipsing all over the city and he was worn out. It was like being on a freaking mission, forced to run away from hostile aliens or walk for kilometers just to try and find a good route back to the stargate.

He gave up somewhere around eighteen-hundred and decided that if he didn't eat something he was going to fall over in the corridors and that would diminish his status as a highly efficient team leader quite a bit.

Of course, as soon as he hit the cafeteria, there they were. Sheppard was wearing his game face, the one reserved for putting alien psychopaths at ease. The guy sitting opposite him – the one Kate has filled him on – looked like Mr. Retired Every Guy. Teyla was also sitting with them. Every so often she'd cast a baffled glance at both men.

Well, no use running over and looking like bigger dork than he all ready was. He studied the menu instead. The cafeteria staff was trying to skimp on the plastic letters again. Apparently they were now serving 'Mc n Chse'. Maybe the entire place was catching the illiteracy bug. Maybe he should give a lecture on the importance of vowels. Underneath the 'Mc n Chse' menu item was, 'Bef Cssrole'. Dessert was listed as, 'Jell-O'. For Jell-O, they'd actually managed to find two vowels and a hyphen.

There was only so many things a man could stand. Jell-o every night of the week wasn't one of them. It wasn't even like they did anything to it except cut the stuff into cubes. Hadn't they heard of Cool Whip? Hadn't they heard of the pudding alternative? Couldn't they at least put something into the Jell-O? Was it so hard to ask for a little relief in the dessert department?

He shuffled his way up the line, weighed up the brown gelatinous stuff that was supposed to be 'Bef Cssrole' and the white gelatinous stuff that was supposed to be 'Mc n Chse'. He pointed and decided that the white cheesy stuff would be okay.

Then it was the choice of Jell-O. Blue or Yellow. Great. He eyed up the little plastic containers all lined up with their individual servings. Felt a rant coming on. He directed it at the woman standing behind the counter in a white coat. There was a thought – how did anyone qualify for a top secret mission to another galaxy when their primary specialty was opening packets of gelatin and mixing the contents with hot water?

"You would think that since the Air Force made it a point of shipping us to another galaxy with as many modern conveniences as possible, one of those would include a person who was capable of cooking."

The woman in the white coat didn't bother to answer. Instead she pointed down at the line.

"You're holding up the queue."

"I'm holding up the queue because I want to know why every time I come here the dessert choice is semi-transparent."

The woman glared at him. "The marines don't have this problem. They like our cooking."

As if to back her up, someone down the end of the line yelled at him. "Hey, keep it moving up there. I'm hungry!"

The person next to him made a point of tapping his foot. Didn't these people understand that they were as much victims of this total lack of originality as he was?

Sheppard appeared on his left. "What's up McKay?"

"I was just telling this… person…that I was sick of cubed Jell-O."

"That's a good thought McKay, and I'm sure everyone agrees with you, but not right now when a whole herd of SG teams have just come back from a variety of missions. Let them eat before they decide _you're_ an excellent dinner alternative."

Sheppard tugged at his elbow and McKay relented, and let himself be pulled out of the queue. Some sarcastic bastards down the back of the line burst into applause.

"Yeah, that's right. Applaud. You'll be begging for my help next month when you reach Jell-O saturation point!"

Sheppard kept propelling him towards the table and McKay's brain switched back to remembering that he was supposed to be keeping on eye on Sheppard instead of complaining about the dessert. Rodney sat down at the table, put his tray down, watched as the cheese oozed over the side of the compartment in the tray and over into the peas. Peas didn't seem like such a good choice now.

"Dr. Rodney McKay meet Royce." Sheppard gestured to the Mr. Retired Every Guy. Rodney and Royce shook hands.

"Royce. First name, or last name?"

"Just a name," replied Royce smoothly.

"It's probably not even your real name," said Rodney.

"No, it's probably not," confessed Royce. "So, the indomitable Dr. McKay. You're quite the legend at SGC."

The fork that Rodney had heading towards his mouth stopped in mid flight. A pasta elbow tumbled off and dove back into the cheese sauce. "Really? A legend? Well, I always knew that people were aware of my extreme brilliance, they just weren't prepared to admit it."

"Actually, I thinking along the lines that so far you've topped the chart for the number of employees in two galaxies that had to take stress leave."

"What! That's a lie! Who said that?"

Teyla continued to be puzzled. "What is stress leave?"

"It's when an employee is one step away from a heart attack brought on by job related anxiety," replied Sheppard clearly bemused by Rodney's reaction.

"Who had to take stress leave? I want their names. Is that the time Zelenka went on vacation for two weeks? So I called him Fumbles McStupid – that's hardly stressful. I call him names all the time."

Royce just shook his head, made a zipping gesture. "Sorry. Sworn to secrecy. But General Landry has quite the dossier compiled."

"You're doing this deliberately! I'm a perfectly fair team leader. Sometimes after we've pulled off a really tough mission I let them come into the labs thirty minutes late."

Sheppard had his hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing. Teyla also looked increasingly amused by Rodney's outrage.

Rodney glowered at them all and took some exasperated stabs at the pasta. Royce glanced at his watch. "After Dr. McKay has finished eating, I think we should get this party started."

"Then he'd better eat slowly," shot back Sheppard. Rodney wasn't sure if he was serious or not. Sheppard made a move to get out of his seat. "I'm going to get some coffee. Anyone want some?"

Royce shook his head. "You should probably skip that whole caffeine experience just for now. You can down a couple of cups tomorrow to make up for it."

Sheppard glanced back at the coffee urn, which made terrible coffee but still meant a caffeine buzz, looked over at Royce. McKay didn't think it had exactly been phrased as an order, but everyone knew that's exactly what it was. They could all figure that out. Royce – maybe his first name, maybe not – trumped them all when it came to rank, privileges and whatever else he cared to use.

Sheppard sat down again, pretty much looking like he was considering taking a jab at Royce and to hell with the consequences.

Terrific. Seemed Sheppard and Royce were heading towards some pissing contest. That'd be fun. Mainly because Rodney never saw these little battles of male superiority coming until he was the one being repeatedly punched in the face.

((--))

Carson was greeted by the sight of Royce, Sheppard and Rodney. Rodney had managed to come along for the ride but Royce didn't appear to be thrilled with the idea. In fact, it was the first time Carson had seen Royce even vaguely irritated.

Royce turned to Rodney, who was doing a pretty good imitation of being Sheppard's twin. Every time Sheppard moved, Rodney was hovering within the half meter personal boundary space.

"It's been nice to meet your Dr. McKay but I think we can take it from here."

Rodney shook his head. "Oh. I'm sorry. Didn't I tell you? I think I've got food poisoning. Carson, I imagine I need a total physical."

Carson was pleased. For once in his life Rodney was putting his over reaction to the slightest twinge of pain to good use. "I think that could be arranged." Carson walked over to a gurney, patted it. Rodney hauled himself up on the bed.

Royce let out a breath, regarded the two of them colluding like a couple of idiots. "I wouldn't like to be accused of jeopardizing the health of anyone on this base, so why doesn't Dr. Beckett leave the examination to one of his nurses, and he can come and help me."

Carson tried to assume his totally professional stance. The one that said he was attending to Rodney not because he wanted to, but because he had to. "At the moment Colonel Sheppard is healthy. Triage protocol says that I need to assess Rodney first. It could be serious."

"And it could take _hours_. Hours and hours." Rodney grinned.

Carson raised an eyebrow. Rodney was certainly getting over enthusiastic. "Aye. But I'm not sure you'd like what I'd have to do for it to take hours and hours."

The grin faded. Royce considered both of them. "Like I said. Have to admire you. But I can do this solo. Your call. You can subject Dr. McKay here to some unnecessary and quite possibly uncomfortable and even painful medical procedures but I'll still be doing the job I came here to do."

The guy was going to play hardball. Okay, so maybe he didn't have much of a choice. Rodney was back to being indignant again.

"Where's Elizabeth? She should be down here."

Carson thought back to his conversation with Elizabeth when Royce had first turned up in his infirmary. She'd tried, but no luck. She'd freely admitted to going into denial, of not wanting to know, or wanting as few people around Atlantis to know as possible. She figured Sheppard was owed some privacy if nothing else. So no, she wasn't coming down to sort this out, or witness the event. Neither was Teyla or Ronon. Carson was the only witness because if they were going to let some stranger take a stroll through Sheppard's psyche, they owed the military leader of Atlantis as much dignity as possible.

"She's not coming down here, Rodney. I'm sorry. She's clear on that point. Maybe you shouldn't be here either upon reflection."

Rodney got off the gurney, sputtered, and then regained his composure. "Okay, fine. I don't have food poisoning. But I don't see why I can't just sit here. Can't I do that? It's not like I'm cluttering up the place. It's empty."

Carson gave Royce a pleading look, and Royce seemed to relent.

"Okay, Dr. McKay, you can sit out here. We might need your help anyway. Can't hurt to have the smartest guy in two galaxies hanging around." He winked at Rodney.

"Hah! See! They admitted it!" Rodney was half way to doing a victory dance when Royce headed for Sheppard's room, Sheppard reluctantly in tow, Carson trailing behind.

As they traipsed into the room together Carson realized the emotions he was feeling were familiar. He felt like he was paying a visit to Carl Shaw and Carl had found a cavity. Yes, this was just a like a visit to the friendly dentist.

((--))

They stepped inside the room and Carson just about fell over. A suitcase lay to one side, unzipped, and empty. Two marines placing equipment into position. Richard was standing over at the bench, going through a list of ampoules, lined up in order, drawing up a long line of syringes with the drugs. He was working off a sheet on the bench.

Sheppard tensed up and gave the impression that he was about to bolt. Royce moved in behind him, took an arm and propelled him towards the bed. Carson, in the interim, went to talk to Richard.

"What's going on?"

"Sorry Dr. Beckett. He said he'd make sure I got kicked out of SGC if I didn't help."

"Lad, that's never going to happen."

"I did some stuff when I was a kid, Dr. Beckett. He said he could make sure Dr. Weir and General Landry got an update."

Carson gave him a pat on the shoulder, because he couldn't think of anything else to do and because the last thing he wanted was for Richard to make a mistake while he was drawing up the specified dosages. Instead, Carson availed himself of the opportunity to take a peek at the drug sheet. There was very few drugs that he recognized on the list and that disturbed him.

He turned back to Royce who had managed to guide a hugely reluctant Sheppard onto the bed. The way Royce was fussing, his gestures could have been mistaken for actual concern. He was making sure the pilot was comfortable. Adjusting the foam around his back, making sure the bed was angled correctly so Sheppard was sitting up, putting the foam cushions under his feet, even going to far as to make sure Sheppard was wearing socks and covering him up with a blanket, to the waist.

Carson found himself contemplating if Royce expressed as much concern for all the bad guys he specialized in 'talking' to. Probably not and presumably this was the way Royce gave his conscience a break.

He decided he should make himself busy. The marines, not really having much of a clue what they'd just unpacked, stood around until they were dismissed. Royce turned his attention back to Carson.

"If you could run a peripheral line with a saline lock for me Dr. Beckett, I'd appreciate it."

Richard had finished his job, was standing nervous and pale against the bench, his entire body language making it clear he wanted nothing more to do with events to date. He cast a pleading look at Carson.

"It's all right, lad. You can go. I'll take care of it."

Richard didn't bother to stick around. He promptly left. Carson went back to the bench, opened one of the cupboards underneath it, and pulled out an 18-gauge catheter and a saline lock. It wasn't hard to guess that rather than wind up sticking Sheppard with a continuous round of needles, Royce was going to deliver the drugs with an IV push through the lock. He went back to a nervous Sheppard, placed the equipment on the bed table and snapped on a pair of gloves. Took Sheppard's left hand and started palpitating the back for a vein. He made it a point to insert into the non dominant hand or arm when he could, sparing his patients having to put up with an IV in the hand they normally used for eating and writing.

He caught sight of his usual candidate for a vein, the dorsal venous arch. Despite all of the IVs placed into Sheppard's veins of late, they usually saved this one for later when they needed some obvious access point. He swabbed the area with an alcohol pad, placed a small amount of anesthetizing gel onto the area. Then he placed the hand on the bed, firmly held it, placed the needle against the back of the hand for a few seconds to get the nocioreceptors used to the sensation and firmly pushed the needle into the skin and through to the vein.

It went in easily, and he got blood in the flash chamber signaling he'd made a successful puncture. He stabilized the catheter hub, carefully removed the flash chamber and needle, and placed the saline lock onto the end of the hub. Covered the whole thing in tegaderm dressing. Finally, he grabbed a needle of saline, flushed the lock, checked for any signs of the catheter being situated incorrectly.

"Any pain, Colonel?"

"No."

Beckett observed the lock and vein for another minute, didn't see any signs of swelling, or fluid leakage. "Okay, everything looks good."

Royce was standing over his shoulder, observing. "Thanks for that. I can do them myself, but I do admire the masters. I don't always get it on the first try."

Beckett chose to ignore that statement and shifted his focus to the equipment in the room. "What's next?"

Royce pointed at the various bits of equipment and Carson realized that Royce was explaining their functionality to Sheppard, rather than to him.

"Portable EEG. Developed by the Tokra. Designed for research work and field emergencies and takes only two leads, which I like. We'll use the cardiac monitor that's all ready here. Basically I like to make sure everything's okay while we do this, so I make sure you're hooked up and monitored."

Sheppard's mouth quirked. "Are you telling me that things don't always go okay?"

"Things usually go without a hitch. But I'm not going to lie to you. I've had the occasional session go bad, usually it's a drug interaction. Very rare. I've only had it happen twice."

"Nice to know you're Mr. Safety Conscious."

"As to this other device…" Royce pointed at something that looked like a laptop but clearly wasn't. He picked up a small adhesive pad. It looked like the adhesive pads used for the cardiac monitor but smaller. "The original prototype was found by SG-1. It's used to retrieve and store memories. It can also be used in allowing other's to experience those memories. As Cameron Mitchell found out. Some of our techs, plus a little help from the Asgard allowed us to slim the key technology right down. It allows me know to determine if a memory is intact or goes into a dead end."

Sheppard was trying hard to appear calm, maybe even casual, but Carson could see by the way his hands were griping the edge of the sheets that what he really wanted to do was run. And Carson didn't blame him. Carson busied himself by reattaching Sheppard back up to the cardiac monitor. Sheppard sighed as he was covered in adhesive pads again.

"I hate these things. When is someone going to invent a way to remove them that doesn't involve having to peel them off in a shower or bath?"

Carson kept his voice light. "Alcohol does the same thing if you want to try it out."

"I'd prefer not having them at all. You know, of all the stuff in the infirmary that drives me crazy, for some reason it's the adhesive."

Carson gave him a pat on the shoulder. "We all have our crosses to carry, although I would think you'd be more unhappy with the Foley."

"I'll let you in on a secret. I've been unconscious every time you've inserted one, so all I know is that it's like the ultimate Homer Simpson dream. I get to lie in bed all day, watch DVDs, and take a leak without having to move." Sheppard delivered his speech with a completely deadpan expression.

Carson couldn't help laughing and Sheppard let out a snicker or two. At this point in time Beckett would take any joke to stop himself from contemplating what they were both getting into.

Royce went back to the bench, brought back a tray of syringes. Sheppard audibly gulped when he saw them. They were color coded, arranged in sequence so that Royce didn't mix them up.

"This looks daunting but if its any consolation after the first injection, you should be feeling no pain." Royce took the first syringe and slowly and carefully injected the contents at a measured rate.

As a doctor, the one thing Carson abhorred was ignorance. He wanted to know exactly what Royce was injecting. "What was that?"

"Close analogy to sodium amtyl but takes longer to metabolize. It's also more effective at lowering inhibition rates. He'll feel like he's had six shots of alcohol in quick succession. More so with the second one. It's got a nice double whammy because it bumps up the serotonin rate a little. He'll be feeling very cozy."

"There had better not be any rebound effects."

"Minimal. He'll be a down for a couple of days and then he'll bounce back." Royce injected the contents of the second syringe as methodically as the first, making sure the rate of infusion was slow and steady, and took place over a minute.

As he injected Sheppard he lowered his voice and turned to Beckett. "From now on Dr. Beckett, I'd ask you to be extremely careful in what you say or do. He's going to be in an extremely receptive state and he could misinterpret anything you say or worse he's going to pick it up to build a false memory and I don't need that. If you could hook him up to the EEG, I'd appreciate it."

The syringe emptied, Royce took both of the empty syringes over to the sharps container and disposed of them. It took Carson that long to hook up the only two leads onto Sheppard's temple and turn on the machine. It immediately got some good solid alpha waves, SMR, beta and gamma. Royce turned his attention to Sheppard who was beginning to get a goofy expression on his face. He eyelids were also half closed.

"How are you feeling, Colonel?"

Sheppard grinned, held out his arms. "Fantastic! What's in that stuff?"

"Some Go'auld enhanced pharmaceuticals," said Royce.

"Crap, you should sell this stuff. You'd make a fortune." Sheppard saw Carson, waved at him. "Carson, guess what? I think I'm stoned."

Beckett couldn't think of anything else to do, since he was out of the driver's seat. He glanced at Royce, who nodded his okay. "Yes, Colonel, I think you are a wee bit stoned."

"I am! Really. High as a kite. This is great. Oh. Hey, this isn't addictive or anything, is it? I mean it's Go'auld and everything."

Royce shook his head, adopted a light, jovial tone. "No, not in the slightest. You'll be feeling perfectly normal after this. The Tokra have worked on making it completely harmless."

"Hey, that's good. Wow. This is great. Did I say that all ready? Feel free to keep me like this for a while. Hours, possibly days."

Sheppard's grin hadn't disappeared at all, and to add to that he listed slightly to one side. He made an uncoordinated attempt to prop himself back up. "How come Carson's head is twice as big as it normally is? He looks like he's a Thunderbird. Rodney made me watch _Thunderbirds._ All the Canadians and Brits are into it. That and _Dr. Who_. I don't get the attraction of watching puppets with really big heads in a TV show from the sixties but the machines are cool. I like Thunderbird One."

Royce interrupted. "It's perfectly normal and it's going to pass in a few minutes. Some times people experience small distortions when the drug is first administered."

"Cool." This time Sheppard fell over onto his side. "Oops."

Royce and Carson went to his aid and got him back into a sitting position. Although he was still intelligible, Carson could detect a slurred quality to Sheppard's voice.

Royce in the interim was pulling up a stool, signaled Beckett to step back. Feeling like a peeping Tom, Beckett decided to busy himself by monitoring the EEG for any signs of abnormality in the brain waves. Not that there should be, but at least it kept his mind off just how incredibly vulnerable Sheppard was in this state.

"Okay, Colonel," Royce began but was interrupted.

"You can call me John. Really. 'Cause that's my name. First name. Unlike yourself, Royce. Just Royce. Could be a first name, or a last name. Or a middle name. I bet no one thought of that."

Royce smiled at him. "Sure. John, why don't we get started. I'm just going to hook you up to that device we talked about and ask you some questions. Okay?"

"Sure. It doesn't hurt does it? I hate that shit."

"No, it doesn't hurt." Royce placed the patches on Sheppard's forehead. Sheppard reached up with a hand, felt along his hairline.

"I'm covered. Does this come off in the shower?"

"Actually, it's very easy to remove. I can take it off after we finish."

"Yay! 'Cause the other stuff just never comes off. Carson, you have to remember to ask Royce about the sticky stuff on these things. Maybe you could use it. Sort of like Post-It notes for cardiac monitors."

"Aye. I'll remember to do that." Carson didn't look up from the screen because there it was again. The first time he'd seen it, just a few seconds ago, he thought he was just looking at the typical artifacts that contaminated any EEG reading. But there it was again. A definite peak. It wasn't normal and it was sticking out on the beta like a sore thumb. Normally he wouldn't have noticed it, but Sheppard's beta had become rhythmic, after the drugs have been used. The peak didn't fit in.

Royce was continuing his questioning of Sheppard. "Why don't you tell me about the best Christmas present you ever got?"

"Easy. That's the bike I got when I was eight."

Carson continued to stare at the strange peak. It seemed like it was random but it couldn't be because that type of signal just didn't belong in someone's brain waves.

"Can you describe the bike to me?" Royce was ignoring Carson, concentrating instead on the colors flowing across the laptop screen.

"Sure. A Schwinn. BMX. It was red. I think Dad bought it for me to make up for making us move four times in a year."

Carson tore himself from the EEG screen, looked around to see if there was anything that allowed the signal to be printed to tape. Found a button, got the readings printed. He cleared his throat and got Royce's attention.

Royce gave him a dirty look but broke him attention away from Sheppard. "That sounds like a good bike."

"It was. It was good. I rode it around the base. There were some hills out the back I could practice on. Drove my mother nuts."

Sheppard happily rambled on about the bike while Royce moved Carson out of earshot. "This had better be important Dr. Beckett." Royce was whispering.

Carson showed him the tape. "Has anyone ever displayed this type of pattern before?"

Royce frowned, took the tape. "No. Never seen it before."

"I'm going to see if I can't make heads or tails of it. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Beckett headed for the door. Sheppard called after him. "Hey, Carson! Where're you going?"

"Just popping out for a wee break. Back soon."

This seemed to disappoint Sheppard. "You don't like me any more."

"I like you. I just need to have a bathroom break. That's all."

"Oh. Okay!" He was back to his artificially chipper mood in seven seconds flat. It was spooking Carson and quite frankly, having a good excuse to temporarily escape was a relief.

He headed out the door, back into the main infirmary, found himself instantly cornered by a hugely concerned Rodney.

"What's going on? Is he okay?"

"He's fine, Rodney. In fact he's more than fine. He's terrific." Carson clutched the paper, looked at it again. "I've got to go and do some research."

Rodney of course, was never going to take that as an answer of any sort, especially when he was being ignored. "Let me see that."

The paper was snatched from his hands before he could do anything. Rodney checked the patterns over for a few seconds and then his eyes widened.

"Oh, crap."

"What do you mean by that?" Carson did not like the way Rodney was heading for the exit as fast as he could. Carson ran after him. "Rodney! Can you please explain what you mean by 'oh crap'?"

Rodney slammed to a halt, shoved the paper under Beckett's nose.

"I've seen that signal before. It was in the traffic anomalies report that Cooper shipped to me."

"What? I don't understand."

"We monitor all the comms traffic going out of - and coming into - Atlantis and try to rough it up just in case some pesky aliens are trying to find us. It disguises the traffic so that it appears to be random. This same signal started appearing right after Sheppard came back. I thought it was just being generated by the algorithm."

"And?"

"And if this is popping up in what you're loosely referring to as Sheppard's brain waves, then that means this isn't random. And that means someone is transmitting a deliberate signal out of Atlantis. Presumably a homing signal. At the moment, that someone appears to be Sheppard."

((--))


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Sheppard knew only one thing for sure at this particular point in time. He felt good. Damn good. Codeine good. Someone could have hit him on the head with sledge hammer and he would have smiled and said, "Thanks". He also seemed to want to share everything. All that stuff he normally didn't talk about happily spilled out his mouth sans editing. But so far Royce hadn't exactly asked him anything interesting. Just some questions from his childhood that weren't even vaguely alarming. He'd talked about his bike, and Scamp the cat. There were summer vacations, and he recalled the times when he'd tried eating a Popsicle fast enough that the melting ice wouldn't roll down his hand, leaving it tacky from the sugar. If he'd had any rational part left, it would have picked up on the fact that so far he hadn't been asked much about his life beyond the age of ten.

He tapped out some drum beats on the bedside table, felt tired. Maybe he should take a nap. He closed his eyes, yawned.

"Sorry, Colonel, it's not time for a nap yet." That was Royce again. Good old Royce.

"I'm tired." And he was.

"Let me give you something and that might help you stay awake." Okay, if Royce wanted to make him feel good for longer, that was just fine by him. He helpfully held out his hand again, for injection number three and noticed Carson had slipped back into the room.

"Carson's back," he said. Just to state the obvious. He waved again. He liked Carson. Carson may have tried to shoot down his helicopter with drones but it wasn't deliberate, so that was okay. Sheppard was a forgiving guy when he wanted to be.

Beckett gave him a small smile, but seemed distracted. Maybe there had been trouble with the whole bathroom trip. Sheppard giggled to himself because the thought was funny. Royce was injecting the drugs again, and he ignored the slight burn in his veins because he really wanted another hit but this wasn't like the first or second shot at all. In fact it woke him up too much and it made him feel agitated. Everything was beginning to ache. He shifted uncomfortably. Decided abruptly, that he didn't like Royce. Come to think of it, had he liked him before all of the drugs?

"What the fuck are you still doing here?" He wiped a hand over his eyes, tried to wake up some more. Royce was an asshole.

Royce was grabbing a fourth syringe. He'd had enough of that, he decided. This time he didn't willingly hand over his arm. Instead he tried twisting his hand out of Royce's grip.

"No. I don't want any more."

Royce grabbed his hand back again. Sheppard started to struggle, thought it was time to run. Royce turned his head back towards Carson.

"I need some help here, Dr. Beckett."

Carson seemed slightly distracted, but came over anyway. Sheppard had two people to be pissed off at.

"You can cut that shit out, Carson! You are _not _touching me. Did you hear me, Carson?"

"Sorry about this, Colonel," said Beckett, and made a grab for his arm, held it still for Royce and Sheppard was really ramping up now, getting ready to throw them off, but he had two guys holding him down, and Royce pushed the drugs, and it was different again.

The anger was blown away, like dandelions in a summer's breeze.

"Oh," he said. Pleasantly shocked. He heard Royce explaining something to Carson in the background but was much too hazy to care. Couldn't concentrate much at the moment. Although he did spot Beckett handing over a note to Royce. It was like High School. All those girls passing notes backwards and forwards. Royce read the note and didn't say a thing, but he frowned. Sheppard thought frowning in Royce was probably a bad sign.

Royce went back to the stool, sat down to go back to asking questions, and Sheppard thought he didn't mind the questions.

"I think you reacted to the last batch I gave you. It happens sometimes."

"That's okay." Because it was. Everything was back to being good again. Nothing to worry about. Just hanging out with his friends.

"I was thinking we should talk about what happened on MX-twenty-one-forty-zero."

He wondered briefly if he should reply but so far the question was innocuous enough. Nothing too hard there. "We went on a trading mission but they didn't have much except for alcohol."

"Did you go straight back to Atlantis after the mission?"

"No. We'd had too much to drink. The villagers were friendly. Said we could set up camp in the woods without any problems. They seemed reluctant to let us stay though. Something about the accommodation being full."

"You set up camp in the woods." Royce he noticed, seemed to be talking to him and keeping his eye on the laptop and the pretty colors. Royce reached over and tapped a few keys.

"Yeah. Had our sleeping bags in our packs. McKay complained the whole way. Did you know he complains far more when he's tipsy?"

"I can imagine. Keep going."

"We made a fire, got settled down for the night. Ronon volunteered to take the first watch, which was great. The man's got a liver of stone. Three drinks didn't even affect him. I'd been avoiding any alcohol but I think the villagers were slipping me some in the what they laughing called fruit juice. I should have just stuck with water. They probably thought it was funny."

"Then what happened?"

"I was just going to doze and, um, then…" He stopped. He couldn't remember clearly. Royce was looking at the monitor on the device that was supposed to view memory traces. Or whatever.

"Then?" Royce prompted.

Sheppard tried again. He wanted to tell Royce what he knew but unexpectedly nothing was making sense. The images jumbled, adrenaline slammed into him, he could feel his heart beating like the heart of a scared rabbit.

"There's uh, something. Something happened. I was by the fire. Now I'm not. I'm… I don't know where I am." And he didn't except that this place was cold and dimly lit and he couldn't see much. But he could hear. Someone or something was moving around. Skittering around. Swiftly, the pitter patter of tiny feet. A sound like worms in a bait bucket, twisting together. He was being dragged, nothing gentle about it. He couldn't coordinate himself to get out of their grip.

He heard, far away, Royce's voice mutter, "Yes. There it is. It looks intact but weak. I think I can enhance it…"

The feeling of well being that had been there only moments before was melting. The feeling wasn't replaced by anger. Just fear. It wasn't the fear he'd felt in combat or been trained to ignore. This was different. It was paralyzing. It shoved him left and right, kept him off balance.

"Describe what you can for me."

Sheppard shook his head. If he described what he recalled, it would make it real and he didn't want it to be real. He was flat on his back, tied down, he couldn't move. He was groggy, kept passing out, then he'd wake up. They were doing things to him. He could see the movement out of the corner of his eyes. The things that were making the skittering sounds. He'd been slammed onto a bone cold metal table like a sack of potatoes. His shoes were gone, his jacket, all of his clothes. Child like hands taking the time to undress him, strange and stranger because if you were going to kill someone, why bother?

He pushed himself from the table, strained to get up, was all uncoordinated movements, drunk from alcohol and whatever the aliens had given him or used on him.

They were surprised that he'd managed to get upright, but he couldn't see them clearly. Just shapes moving in the background, out in the shadows, away from the bright lights that shone directly on him. He tried to run, but his feet kept hitting bits and pieces, roughness – he cut his feet. In his haste to leave, he didn't watch where he was going but now he did and he was chilled. Fragments of glass, dirt, leaves, clothing, fasteners, clumps of hair, data pads, pens, smashed corner of equipment, a child's toy, broken bone of an animal, putrid liquids. He was stepping through the shattered remains and lives of others who had been here before him.

He couldn't afford to stop, couldn't find a way out, couldn't get himself to move fast enough out of this hell hole. Hands grabbed at him. They should have been too small to hold him that hard, to hurt him that much. Their fingers dug into him. They seemed amused by his attempt, or at least he thought that's what they were doing. A strange hiccupping noise that might have been laughter. They were less amused when he swung around, used his fists and nails to rake across the skin of one of his captors. The hands punched him, pulled him, dragged him, brought back their amusing new pet.

He was bodily picked up and thrown, smashed back onto the table, face first, the force bruising him, knocking he breath out of him.

"I know this seems frightening, but it's just a memory. Keep going." Royce's voice cut through the scene playing in his head.

There was nothing to do but curl himself in his bed and try to ignore the smell. "I know what this is," he said. He didn't know who he was talking to.

The smell was familiar. A stench. He knew that one well enough. Death. It was the smell of dead and decaying bodies, bloated, discarded. He was in a charnel house, next one on the heap.

Instinctively he held one side of his face. There was a tube being forcibly inserted up his nose, it hurt. A bony finger was trying to get him to open his mouth and when he wouldn't a piece of metal went between his teeth and they forced it open anyway, and something in him was vain enough to not want them to break his teeth, so he stopped resisting. They stuck some goop in there, it almost choked him and it tasted God awful. Everything hurt and he couldn't fathom why. They stuck his arm with a needle.

He twisted away from Royce, huddled further down in the bed.

"I know it's scaring you, but I want you to tell me what's happening," Royce's voice seemed more insistent.

"Don't make me." _Don't make me do this, because I don't think I'm going to be able to put myself back together._

"Remember what your Dad used to say to you John? About the monsters?"

What? Where had that come from? His Dad? Yeah, Royce knew more about Sheppard than he let on. Seemed a minor problem compared to the other memories careening around. "I think. Yeah, maybe. He said there were no monsters under the bed."

"Why did he say that?"

"I was scared. I thought something lived under my bed when I was little. He gave me a torch and said that nothing could out run the light, so if I shone the light under there, real quick, and there was nothing there, they couldn't have been there in the first place." Somehow, despite his father's best attempts, it had only partially helped. But he knew his father was desperately trying, and John wanted to please him, so he kept a tight grip on the torch at night and pretended that whatever his father said, worked. Any kid knew that monsters were real. Any kid knew they really did move that fast.

"Whatever you're feeling, that's just a memory. They can't hurt you, that's over and in the past. But we need to know that Atlantis is going to be okay, that Earth is still safe. Do you know what they wanted, or who they were?"

Darkness. Not dark. He figured he was drifting in and out of consciousness. They were drugging him, he thought. Maybe. His ankles tied down, his wrists tied down. He twisted and twisted and they wouldn't come loose. He couldn't seem to breath on his own any more. Machines made sounds. Hissing. Clanking. Breath forced into his lungs. Breath forced out. They were killing him. Or he was all ready dead. His right sinus hurt like hell, like the time he'd had a massive sinus infection. He lay there and his body demanded that he shift positions and he couldn't, and sometimes he slept, sometimes he didn't. When he jerked back into wakefulness, he was back in a nightmare instead of the other way around. He wondered why he wasn't thirsty. His hunger burned off and on. Maybe there were feeding him. 

He woke again, didn't know what day, what hour it was. Same movements past his eye, swift, a flash. He risked turning his head to the side, even though he wasn't sure if he could manage the movement. Took forever, turned it, thought he should get a good look at his captors, even though it was probably the last thing he should do. Ignorance just might be bliss in this case.

The creature was an Asgard. No, wait, wrong. Not an Asgard. Same height. Skin more gray. Head didn't have that dome on the back. The creature was bent over a tray of instruments. Sharp. All sharp and glinting in whatever light source there was. The creature stopped working, seemed to sense it was being observed. Turned around.

Eyes like a human's in a gray, pallid face with no nostrils, just slits, and a mouth with teeth, all tiny and it smiled sadistically at him just like Death would smile, when Sheppard eventually got around to meeting him.

It terrified him. This was not Steven Spielberg's ET. No cuteness here. No friendly hellos. The creature advanced on him, seemed amused that Sheppard had bothered to try and look. Sheppard felt small hands clutch at his hair, roughly yank his head back. Once more he was staring at the ceiling. No, not a ceiling. Just a big open space that seemed to go on forever. Bizarre sculptures were hanging on the sides. Stuck there like big humanoid butterflies. Arms stretched out, legs stretched out. Mouths open. Some bloated, skin mottled, peeling off. Bones showing through. Eyes shriveled and blind. Not sculptures. People. People long dead and some not so long dead. Another creature moved to assist. They were doing something else; he could feel steel touching the sides of his head. They were clamping his head down. That explained it. They were screwing the clamp tighter and tighter so that he couldn't move.

The creature that had turned into the main magician's assistant was holding the eyelids of his right eye open. Shit, shit. No. The main creature, the main bad guy, a mutant troll doll, dropped a dollop of the same goop they'd stuffed into his mouth and even though he couldn't see the same, it didn't take a genius to recognize just what was coming at him. That's why they had his head clamped down. A needle. Long needle. He wanted to scream, but he couldn't, throat stuffed and clogged with a tube, being forced to breath and he didn't want to breath anymore, he wanted to be dead because then he wouldn't be here for this. He tried going somewhere else, somewhere safe. Antarctica. Snow. He couldn't concentrate long enough to stay there. The assistant creature just kept holding his eyelid open and he realized that his right eye had been paralyzed and okay, they were going to plunge it in there, and they did and he started trying to scream, and scream and for some reason he could understand them and they were telling him things, secrets, that he needed to be good, and he couldn't-

-Someone was screaming and wouldn't be quiet. Kept screaming. There was movement around him, feet running. Voices. Every. Where. Sting of a drug in his veins. Whoever was doing that should stop it. He was struggling, he had to run, get away, hands kept holding him. In the background the cardiac monitor seemed to be registering its protests at his too fast heart rate.

He heard a Scottish accent somewhere in the chaos. Something familiar he could latch onto. "John, it's okay. You need to be still for me, let me help you here."

He didn't want to be still, couldn't be still. They were here, they knew. No, not here in the room, but they were here. They knew everything. They'd told him what would happen if he was bad.

Somebody else was in the room too. Another familiar voice.

"I don't want to alarm anyone unnecessarily, but that signal isn't so random any more."

"Yes, thank you Rodney, that's not helpful at the moment. Grab a leg."

A hand was on Sheppard's chin, turning his gaze, trying to get him to focus. "John, it's Dr. Beckett. Remember? You want to look at me here for just a minute?"

John did manage to get himself to try and see who was speaking. The person was a blurry image but Carson's features eventually swam back into view. He knew Carson. Carson was okay. Carson was familiar and if it was Carson, then today must be Wednesday. No, that wasn't right. That meant he was in Atlantis.

"Doc."

"The one and only."

He licked his lips. They were dry. His mouth was dry. Voice shot for some weird reason. "Um… Something happened."

"Aye. It did."

He was exhausted. Energy was running out of him like water spiraling down a plug hole. He could sleep for a week with or without drugs. The arms that were holding him down seemed to vanish and that was good. He rolled over, curled himself up because he was cold.

"Tired." Simple statement of fact. That was all he was capable of. He'd started shaking.

"Aye, I imagine you are. You're probably going to sleep for a good while."

The shaking wouldn't go away. His teeth were chattering. Knocking together like he was sitting outside McMurdo base in his underwear. Someone started pulling a warming blanket over him, switched it on. Carson pulled an ear thermometer out of his pocket.

"I'm just going to get a reading here, Colonel. Hold still for a wee second."

Even though Carson had warned him, and moved slowly, he still jumped when he felt the metal touch against the inside of his ear. There was a beep a few seconds later. Carson checked the readout, didn't react.

"Your body temperature dropped slightly. Nothing to worry about. You'll warm up soon."

Between the shaking Sheppard managed to squeeze out a question. "Where'd Royce go?"

"He's gone to see Elizabeth."

Carson was pulling more blankets over him. He didn't have the energy to take over and complete the action himself, couldn't stop himself shaking, and it seemed he was overcome with a pathetic inability to perform simple tasks for himself. Carson held a straw to his lips.

"Drink this. It'll help your throat, and make you feel better."

He didn't have the reserves left to tell Carson he was an adult and the last thing he needed was a bendy straw in a plastic cup, but thirst told him otherwise. He sucked back a mouthful, it was like watered down orange juice, didn't care and concentrated on emptying the cup as rapidly as he could in between bouts of shivering. The blankets were helping and he was warming up enough that the shaking seemed to ease up. Carson poured him another. This time it was water. He dispatched that fairly quickly as well, not slowing until half way to the bottom. He finished the rest at a leisurely pace. Watched as Carson put the cup down on the bed table.

"Do you think you could go to sleep?"

Sheppard nodded slightly. The shaking was almost gone so that was a stupid question. He was almost asleep as it was. Simple stuff. Simple. He felt himself drift off.

((--))

Carson watched as Sheppard's breathing evened out. Considering the number of drugs he'd been given, it wouldn't surprise him if the man was out for ten hours at a minimum.

Richard was back in the room, Rodney had barreled in without asking around the time Sheppard started screaming his head off. There were two more nurses from the infirmary area who had joined Rodney without asking. Royce however, hadn't stayed around to help. He'd injected Sheppard with yet another drug, seemed to think his job was done and left Carson to clean up the mess.

Carson thought he'd be making a mess of his own in about thirty minutes. The mess would probably be from the result of Carson pummeling Royce within an inch of his life if he got near him. Not that Carson was a violent guy, and he didn't start fights but was more than capable of defending himself if he had too. Doctors didn't work the A&E night shift without getting more than enough experience in holding down violent patients. Carson figured he could get the satisfaction of getting off at least one good shot before Royce killed him with some patented CIA death grip.

Rodney was standing to one side, his expression grim, keeping quiet. A quiet Rodney was an upset Rodney but he'd have to wait because Carson had some work to do. He beckoned to Richard and the other nurses.

"Colonel Sheppard is probably going to be out for a while. Under no circumstances is he to be left alone. I want a nurse with him at all times. He's still going to have to be turned every two-hours as per the normal routine. I don't need to remind you that he's going to be strung tight, and the last thing I need is for anyone to get punched again. Make sure you talk to him before you do anything at all, even if he's asleep. If I see him in restraints you'd better be telling me that he was about to kill himself, because that's all I'll accept as an excuse."

Richard asked another question. "Do you want him sedated if he does wake up?"

"No. He's got enough junk in his body as it is. There's to be no drugs at all until I'm sure he's metabolized what's there. When he wakes up, get a urine sample down to the lab."

Richard nodded, bustled over to the bed and started clearing up.

"Oh, and any remaining drugs that Royce had, I want that packaged and sent down to Dr. Biro for analysis. I'm going to presume that neither he, nor the IOA is going to give me the courtesy of telling me what I'm dealing with."

With the nurses fully occupied, Carson turned his attentions back to Rodney. Rodney seemed to be thinking some options through.

"If we don't figure out what that signal's doing, we could be in big trouble."

"You think so?" Carson's reply was sarcastic. He had more then enough to worry about without wondering whether Atlantis was about to be overrun by aliens. Again.

Rodney didn't get a chance to reply. Elizabeth's voice echoed in both their ears. "Rodney, Carson, I need to see you. Right now."

"We'll be right there," replied Rodney.

Carson spared a glimpse back at Sheppard, out for the count. There wasn't much more he could do here.

Sometimes he entertained the idea of asking for a transfer back to Earth. Admittedly they'd never let him go back to his old, blissfully ignorant life where he kept fighting the good fight and truly believing he was of some benefit to the world but maybe he could just hole up at SGC and that would be that. At least he could visit his family every so often. He didn't think it was much to hope for.

Was it?

((--))

Elizabeth Weir had decided to drop any pretence of being a diplomat, or for that matter, someone with manners. Royce, she had decided, was an unrepentant Black Ops prick and the sooner she got him out of Atlantis, the happier she'd be.

He'd turned up in her office to share his conclusions with her. He was excited, hell, he was even happy. Apparently it was a job well done because he'd concluded that yes, Atlantis was probably in the firing line again. Of course, he wasn't entirely sure how but if she gave him a few more days, a few more rounds with Sheppard, he could figure it out.

She'd called in two marines around that point and told him if he left her office she'd have him shot on sight. He smiled at her with that patented smirk that said she didn't understand quite who she was dealing with and she'd almost had him shot for that alone.

"I think you're forgetting Dr. Weir. I'm under direct orders of the IOA and therefore the President. What do you think they're going to say when I make my report?"

She was past the point of politeness. "You're presuming you're going to make it back. It was a rather unfortunate accident. Inexplicably, you seemed to have lost your balance on one of the balconies and fallen into the ocean. According to the autopsy results, you drowned. As long as they don't look too hard they won't realize you drowned as a result of having your head held down."

One of the marines edged closer, and Royce, for what was the presumably the first time in his life, paled and sat down.

He'd shown her the paper trace of Sheppard's EEG. Yes, they had a problem. She called Carson and Rodney up to her office. She needed their opinion because she trusted them implicitly to give her the right answers. Unlike Royce.

When they'd walked into her office, Carson had given Royce a look that said he thought Royce was the equivalent of dog shit.

They didn't bother to sit down. Neither man wanted to go anywhere near Royce, who'd gone back to sitting in his chair with a studied and disturbing calmness. Even the marines didn't seem to faze him, or if they did, he was good at hiding it.

"I need some explanations gentlemen."

Rodney started speaking, looked guilty. "The signal started showing up when Sheppard showed up. It mimicked the usual random traffic noise but it was new, so I thought it was a quirk in the algorithm. I'm sorry Elizabeth, it just didn't occur to me to check the signal further."

"Rodney, you weren't to know. The question is, what are we going to do?"

Carson put in his two cents worth. "We're going to have to scan him. See if we can't locate some sort of transmission device. The Ancient scanners are efficient, so we should be able to find it."

Rodney bent forward in his chair, resting his forearms on his thighs, deep in thought. "Okay, that's not so bad. I can figure that out. Even if it's cloaked or something weird, we might be able to triangulate a position using a change in power. Maybe. Although it's going to be a small transmitter." He abruptly straightened up, snapped his fingers. "Yeah, okay, this might work. Get some Ancient nannites, program them to seek out any targets that aren't biological in nature, or don't match Sheppard's cell structure. Get them to tag it as soon as they find whatever 'it' is. I can also work on a way of blocking the signal. I think." Rodney paused briefly before finishing his topic of conversation. "You know this might also explain why he can't use Ancient technology."

Carson stared at Rodney. Well, that's why he was on this mission. Radical genius and all that. "It might work Rodney, but I'd prefer the scanning route first, if you don't mind. I don't think he needs another medical crisis."

"Oh. Sure. No problems, Carson. You try that first. I'll go and start working on the nannites as backup."

Elizabeth nodded. "Go ahead but Rodney, make sure the nannites are safe."

Rodney looked insulted. "Like I'm going to use anything that could hurt Sheppard."

"I know, Rodney. I trust you," said Elizabeth because she did. For all his bluster, when it came down to the crunch, Rodney always came through and this time, more than ever, they needed a miracle save. _John_ needed a miracle save.

Rodney and Carson left her, alone with Royce. He dug around in his pockets, pulled out a cigar.

"Mind if I smoke?"

"Yes, actually, I do."

He lit the damn thing up anyway.

((--))

Carson walked down the corridors with Rodney in tow. Rodney abruptly stopped.

"When are you going to do the scan?"

Carson regarded Rodney for a moment, hoped the man didn't take him to task for his next suggestion. "When he wakes up."

"Carson, that could be hours from now. We don't know what's going to happen."

"Don't you think perhaps if Atlantis was about to be taken over, or blown up, the aliens would have done it by now? Anyone that can plant a transmitter on someone is waiting for something. Maybe they're planning on waiting for a wee bit longer."

"Wouldn't it be kinder to do it when he's asleep?"

"I'm not sedating him, Rodney, and considering all he's been through I don't want him waking up in the middle of any medical procedure, no matter how innocuous."

"Yeah, makes sense," said Rodney. Then he sighed. "This entire day has been crap."

"Sums it up."

"What are we going to do if we can't fix this, Carson? I think I can block the signal but to do that all of my solutions involve locking Sheppard up in a shielded room. That's not good."

"We'll figure it out. Don't worry. We always do."

"One day, our luck is going to run out."

"Rodney, you've always maintained it has nothing to do with luck and everything to do with your amazingly big brain."

"I lied. It's ninety-nine percent my amazingly big brain and one percent pure luck. The luck portion always worries me."

"You don't strike me as someone who thinks there's such a thing as luck, or synchronicity, or whatever. I thought everything could be explained by statistical probabilities."

"Carson, if it was all down to statistics, there would be a lot more happy people around. For whatever reason, the Universe usually conspires against us all."

"That's not exactly an upbeat life philosophy."

"Since when did life ever give anyone, except a small minority, a break?"

"How do you explain the minority?"

Rodney broke into a small smile at that. "They're in league with the devil."

He didn't bother to hang around for Carson's reply and Carson couldn't figure out whether Rodney was being serious or not and then thought Rodney was probably joking. Probably. Still, now he knew why Rodney spent every week in Kate's office. The man had a seriously depressing belief system at work.

((--))

Teyla had been requested by Carson to come down to the infirmary early in the morning. He didn't give her a full explanation until she arrived, except to tell her that a familiar face would be welcome. They'd tried to keep Sheppard's privacy intact, keep the number of people involved to a minimum but it seemed Carson needed the help, and so did Sheppard. Rodney was indisposed, trying to figure out how to block the alien signal.

She sat in a chair, opposite the bed. Sheppard was still sleeping. The night has been rough on him. Every time the nurses had attempted to roll him over, even though they talked to him, let him wake up, their touches sent his heart rate through the roof, left him in a cold sweat. He tried hard not to let them know, but he would bite his bottom lip, stifle the cry before it could escape. He was having difficulties and it was obvious to everyone.

Teyla had only met Hermiod briefly and even though intellectually she knew this was nothing to do with Hermiod's race of people, the fact that Sheppard's torturers were related to the Asgard made her doubt that the Asgard were as benevolent as they claimed.

She sat in a chair and worked on the Athosian version of crocheting. The nurse that was in the room – his name was Richard - had briefly left to get a cup of coffee. She'd never been particularly good at this venerated art and she'd never let anyone see her attempts to sew up a never ending supply of misshapen and odd shaped squares and circles. Still, it was a hobby that made a change from fighting. Or running. She completed a stitch with some concentration. She decided if she couldn't get the next stitch to work, she'd give up and cram it back in the bag she'd brought with her.

"What'cha doing?"

She looked up. Sheppard was awake. Still seemed groggy but pleased to see her.

It was too late to hide her attempts at a more tranquil hobby. She held it up so he could see better. Her efforts had created a pattern that resembled the web of a drunken spider.

"It's called daetrek. My grandmother taught it to me, but I am afraid even after all these years, I have yet to master it."

He regarded her crocheting with a bemused expression. "It's very original. What do you do with it after you finish?"

"I am supposed to assemble them into more useful items. Some of the other women make blankets."

"I imagine there's a lot of hats and scarves sets for Christmas."

Teyla didn't get the reference, so instead she smiled and put the crocheting away.

"Do you feel better this morning?"

"Depends on what you mean by the word better. I'm okay, if that's what you mean."

Richard came back into the room, saw that Sheppard was awake. Gave them both that patented, reassuring medical professional smile. "Hey, good morning. I'll just go and get Dr. Beckett."

Sheppard grimaced. "I'm over the whole poking and prodding thing. Do me a favor Teyla. Grab a wheelchair and break me out of here."

"I do not think Dr. Beckett would be pleased if I did that."

"Damn right I wouldn't be pleased." The man in question has just entered, wearing the same smile as Richard and forcibly cheerful. He came over to the bed, glanced at the monitors, and dug his stethoscope out of his coat pocket. Idly warmed up the business end on his shirt, as per usual. "Just wanted to give you a quick check-up, make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine, Carson. Quit worrying."

"I'm your doctor. Worrying is second nature to me when it comes to you, Colonel. Sit up for me and lift up your shirt."

Sheppard did as he was told, sat up and forward, got his t-shirt out of the way. Carson approached him carefully. "I'm just going to listen to your breathing, you'll feel me touch your back."

Carson was usually very careful with his patients, always taking time to explain the procedures, but this was excessive even for Carson. Teyla watched as Sheppard closed his eyes and seemed to be fighting not to pull away as soon as Carson came anywhere near him. He managed to sit still, take deep breaths as instructed. He flinched when Carson took his temperature.

"Colonel, I've got some technicians waiting outside and they're going to bring in the scanner. You've had one before, right?"

Sheppard nodded, seemed unsure at this piece of news.

Carson continued. "It doesn't hurt and it's over quickly. You don't have to do anything, just lie still. Remember?"

"Sure. I remember. It's okay, Carson. I'm not going to freak out."

"I didn't think you would. Just wanted to make sure you knew what was going on." Carson hit his radio button. "You can come in."

Two technicians wheeled the scanner in, which everyone jokingly called the Whiteboard. Because that's exactly what it looked like. A big glowy whiteboard. In fact, it looked so much like a whiteboard that Carson had been forced to attach a note to the device that explained it was not in fact a whiteboard and would the science teams please stop drawing flowcharts on the scanning surface.

Teyla stepped out of the way and moved her chair back towards the wall. The two technicians started the scanner up, pushed it closer to the bed. All they really had to do was pull it along at a set speed, along the length of Sheppard's body. Carson loved this particular piece of Ancient technology. He'd explained the differences between the scanner and the MRI to her, presumably for the sake of conversation. The scanner was non invasive and patients barely had to hold still for five minutes, unlike the twenty to ninety for an MRI. Even non claustrophobic patients struggled with being stuck in an MRI, and the earplugs and headsets given to patients did nothing except slightly muffle the noise generated by the gradient magnets being opposed by the main electrical field. Even better, the position of the patient was unimportant. The scanner worked whether the patient was sitting up, standing up, or lying down. At least, that's what he'd told her.

The technicians started pulling the scanner, and Sheppard concentrated on keeping himself still. Carson kept out of the way too, giving the scanner one clear object to scan. He monitored progress on his laptop. "Yes. That's good. Can you just keep it there for a few moments longer? I need a clear series of his head."

The technicians paused and no one was perturbed, or upset. Sheppard took a few deep breaths, seemed to be coping well.

Then she noticed his eyeballs rolling up into his head.

"Dr. Beckett!"

At exactly the same time, the heart monitor started screaming again. Not because his rate was too high but because his rate was dropping like a stone. The technicians hurriedly pulled the scanner out of the way, Carson was yanking the bed back so that Sheppard was lying prone, throwing the pillows under his head to the floor, leaving just one, listening intently with his stethoscope.

"Christ! He's not breathing." Carson reached over, hit the call button for all he was worth, whirled on Teyla. "Go and get me some nurses. Right now!"

She ran out the door, Carson yelled something at the technicians. Nurses were all ready running towards the room and they piled in there, in a manner not unlike someone about to do battle with the Wraith.

Teyla watched the doors close and she did not go back.

((--))

Carson had a healthy patient who had suddenly and inexplicably gone sour on him. Bradycardia, breathing non existent. He'd pulled an ambu-bag, placed it over Sheppard's mouth and started squeezing before handing over to Richard. He went through the basics, tilted Sheppard's head. First primary point of care - making sure his patient could still breath. The heart rate wasn't good, but the heart was still beating and that was the main thing. As long as it was pushing blood around, however, feebly, that meant some air could get to the organs and the brain. Although at the rate it was plummeting, that wasn't going to be for long.

"What's his O2 doing?" He didn't direct the question at anyone in particular. Someone had clipped a pulse oximeter onto Sheppard's finger.

"Ninety one."

Not terrific, but it was good enough under the circumstances. The chest was rising, so he was getting oxygen, nothing seemed to indicate any blockages or swelling, but he sure as hell wasn't breathing spontaneously. He turned his attentions back to the heart rate, sitting down at an alarming 10 bpm. If Sheppard didn't pick himself up, even intubating him wasn't going to make any difference. Thank God he'd still kept the peripheral line and the saline lock in place.

"Someone start an IV running and get me a milligram of atropine."

He glanced up at the two technicians, standing around awkwardly, the scanner still off to one side. "And could you get that thing out of the room? It's cluttering the place up."

The technicians nodded, grabbed it and hauled it outside. Someone handed over the syringe of atropine, one of his nurses had just run in a line, hooked up a bag of saline and was holding it with one hand. Carson went for the drug port to start injecting the contents, noticed a change in the heart rate. Held off on injecting.

The cardiac monitor showed the rate was picking up.

"Thank God." He kept his eye on the monitor. The rate climbed steadily, back up to sixty. About normal for Sheppard. Sheppard's color improved. He signaled to the nurse to stop the resuscitation, and he was enormously relieved and pleased to see that Sheppard had resumed breathing on his own.

That just left him with trying to figure out what happened. Patient goes downhill rapidly, and spontaneously recovers. Carson didn't like these particular conundrums as there was no way to know if it was a one off, or there was going to be a repeat performance. It did mean he'd have to keep a closer eye on Sheppard, and run some more tests.

"What happened?" Sheppard was awake, looking dazed and bleary eyed.

"You took a wee turn on us. But you're fine."

Sheppard seemed to take that answer at face value, maybe because he was still too out of it to question Carson further.

It was right then that Carson's brain seemed to pull a Rodney on him. All the pieces of scattered clues and information that had been floating around in his head seemed to coalesce together and it occurred to him that actually, he probably did know what the problem was.

He turned to Richard. "Son, go and grab that scanner and bring it back in here for me."

Richard did as he was told, returned quickly with the device. Carson turned his attentions back to Sheppard. "Sorry, Colonel, I just wanted to try this out one more time. We didn't get a good picture the first time."

It was a white lie. Carson was desperately hoping his theory was wrong. Nervously, he activated the scanner again, pushed it close to Sheppard, and replicated the movements of the two technicians.

Same result. Sheppard was out, the monitor was screaming, breathing gone, oxygen stats plummeting.

"Son of a bitch! Richard, get the damn thing out of here!"

Richard had it out of the room just as fast as he'd managed to bring it in. Another nurse had the ambu-bag in place, pushing air into still lungs. On the plus side, the effects were brief, twenty seconds at the most and Sheppard was coughing and awake rapidly.

"Man, this sucks," said Sheppard. He coughed again. Hard.

"Aye, lad. That it does."

((--))

Some days, bad news was about the only news available in Atlantis. This was one of those days. Carson had shared his latest findings with Rodney and Elizabeth. They were back in her office, Royce shipped off to some guest quarters to wait it out before they dialed up Earth and kicked his ass through the wormhole.

Rodney wasn't happy. Not happy at all because the news had just sunk his brilliant idea to use the nannites and the research had been going so well. They were programmed and nearly ready to be unleashed.

"So, " said Rodney. "Not only can he not use Ancient technology, but if we use any Ancient technology to try and remove the device, that thing inside of him is going to kill him."

"That would appear to be the size of it," said Carson.

Elizabeth asked the next question. "Was there anything on the scans at all?"

"Aye. There's some blurring in his right sinus. It looks vaguely like a shape, but it's too difficult to make out." Carson passed around the film he'd printed out. As he'd said. A small, indistinct irregular shape was sitting in Sheppard's right sinus. A not particularly clear sinus either. Fluid levels had built to half way.

"What's all this white stuff?" Rodney was good at many things, but reading x-rays, or any sort of output concerning the human body wasn't one of them. As a man who prided himself on having an IQ well on the right side of the bell curve, not being able to understand medical procedures aggravated him. Mind you, he always reminded himself that being jealous of a soft science like medicine was hardly something to worry about.

"His sinus is blocked. Presumably as a result of the device."

"Is there anyway to remove this thing?" Elizabeth again, with yet another good question. An obvious one, but the question had to be asked.

"I could perform sinus surgery. Try and remove it the old fashioned way."

Rodney shook his head. "If it almost killed him just because you scanned him, what's it going to do when you start trying to fish it out?"

"If the device is only programmed to react to Ancient technology, then maybe there's a chance we can remove it without setting it off."

Rodney thought Carson was being particularly optimistic and told him so. "We can't take that kind of risk Carson. Look, I know you want to help Sheppard but it's a long shot."

Beckett considered Rodney's response. "I know. You're right. I just can't stand the thought of him at the mercy of alien technology. Especially when we don't even know what it's all for."

"What's our next step?" Elizabeth had her hands clasped in front of her, leaning them on her desk. Carson knew she was trying to keep herself from pacing around the room.

Rodney sighed. There wasn't much they could do, at this point in time. "I can work on shielding Sheppard's room. At least we can block the signal. Then we go back to trying to determine how we get it out, although I get the feeling it's going to take a long time to come up with a solution."

"What happens while we're waiting for you to come up with an answer?" Yes, Elizabeth had all of the excellent questions and Rodney didn't even want to contemplate the answer.

"I guess we'd better ask the Athosians if they'd like a permanent house guest because I imagine the only way we're ever going to be safe, is to make sure that Sheppard isn't in Atlantis."

((--))


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Rodney had swung by Kate's quarters, taken her along for his visit with Sheppard. Funnily enough it didn't even take a genius like Rodney McKay to know that when Sheppard learnt about what else life had in store for him, if he wasn't all ready heading for a major case of depression, he was going to get a substantial prod in the general direction. Kate, quite rightly, wanted to be present. Just in case.

He wasn't sure how to cope with the events to date. They'd come thick and fast. Rodney had been shaken by the sight of Sheppard flailing around on the bed, desperate to get away, his face etched with naked terror. Sheppard was the solider, the tough one. What he wasn't , was vulnerable.

Or at least Sheppard hadn't been until Royce had revealed his little memory enhancing parlor trick.

Sheppard did not like to be treated with kid gloves. He was good at taking care of others, hopeless at taking care of himself. He was a man who toughed it out, who needed his truths plain and unvarnished. Unfortunately the truth Rodney was bringing was the kind of truth that hurt. Just another indignity to add to the pile. It wasn't going to make Sheppard happy, didn't make Elizabeth or anyone else happy. They had to keep weighing up the odds. They were on Sheppard's side but he was just one guy and Atlantis was a city of hundreds of people. Spock's line from _Wrath of Khan_ kept running through his head. _The needs of the many, out weigh the needs of the few. _ And of course, Kirk's response. _ Or the one._

After all the shitty things that kept happening, now they had to share the news that involved choices for Sheppard that weren't actually choices.

They sat in Sheppard's room. Someone had scrounged up a battered recliner they'd shipped in on the Daedalus, of all things. Presumably one of the nurses had brought it in, as they had to sit and supervise all day long.

Rodney, of course, immediately claimed the recliner because he couldn't help himself. Kate seemed to accept his seating choice and took a standard chair. Her mouth had healed up enough for her to talk normally, although Carl Shaw had splinted her battered canine in place by wiring the tooth to its companions. When she smiled she looked like a thirteen-year-old who'd been subjected to cut price dental techniques.

They'd arrived as Carson was trying to convince Sheppard to eat something. Sheppard had managed to claw his way back from his encounter with Royce, righted himself like a Weeble. As a toddler, Rodney had adored those stupid toys. _Weebles wobble but they don't fall down_. His brain was spending its day regurgitating pop culture references but it seemed an apt one. Sheppard seemed to be trying his best, apart from the fact he hadn't eaten in two days. Rodney couldn't fathom going without food for two days. After just one day he thought he was dying. After two days he was certain he'd be in a coma.

"I'll compromise. Take two bites of the chicken, drink a protein shake and we'll call it even." Rodney didn't know exactly what Carson had to bargain with, but he was sounding very confident about the entire process.

Sheppard eyed up the plate, looked like he'd rather throw up than chow down. "No chicken. I'll drink a protein shake but only if it's chocolate flavored and you make it with crushed ice."

"No chicken, but if you're going to make me use a blender, then you drink two shakes."

Sheppard seemed queasy at the thought. "I'll puke if you make me drink two."

"Then eat the chicken and you just have to drink one."

Rodney was impressed. Carson was the master of circular arguments. This could be good. He aimed for a more comfortable position by putting the footstool up and going into recline mode. Everyone looked at him.

"What? I can't get comfortable while you negotiate Sheppard's food intake?" Okay, maybe he was being harsh, but some small part of him, the teeny bit that tried to be a good guy and a caring human being said that by being his usual, semi-obnoxious self he was in fact signaling that despite it all, everything was normal. Everything was hunky dory. Well, as hunky dory as they could be.

"Rodney, some days I swear, I have to restrain myself from crushing up a tranquilizer or two and slipping them into your coffee. If might just be enough to give us all a break," said Carson.

"Is that anyway to speak to the smartest guy in two galaxies?"

"Yes, thank you for reminding us of that amazing fact, _again_." Carson turned his attention back to Sheppard who was sticking a piece of bite sized chicken into his mouth with all the joy of a five-year-old forced to eat brussel spouts. He managed to chew it a couple of times before washing it down with a glass of water. Okay, Rodney could sympathize, but the chicken hadn't been that bad today. The cooks had even put on a coating in an attempt to make it taste like the chicken was fried instead of their ever unhelpful obsession with broiling and baking. If he ever found the nutritionist who insisted on measuring their collective fat intake, he'd force him or her to sit and eat Jell-O all day. The nutritionist sincerely believed that 'substituting' items in a recipe made it taste just the same. No it didn't. It just meant that cheese sauces tasted like glue.

Sheppard managed to dispatch the other piece of chicken, put down the fork. "Happy? I swear Carson, if I hurl, it's your fault."

"I can prescribe something to help settle your stomach. You shouldn't be feeling sick just from eating two measly bites."

"Then you shouldn't serve me food that smells like shit."

Kate's attention was grabbed with that remark. "What do you mean, Colonel?"

"I mean, it smells bad. I can't believe you don't smell this."

"Smelled like it usually smells. Okay enough to eat under duress, but not in the least bit like crap," said Rodney.

Carson pondered the information, tried to offer up an explanation that didn't hint at the fact he all ready knew the explanation. "Your sinuses might be partially blocked. I've got some nasal sprays that might help."

"I can breathe just fine Carson. If I couldn't I wouldn't be able to figure out that everything smells like day old cat shit." He gave Kate an apologetic look. "Sorry about the analogy.

"Hey, if that's what it smells like, it's as good as description as any."

Rodney put the footstool down. "Anyway, that's all very interesting but there's a reason your sinus is blocked and the bottom line is, a spray isn't going to help." Might as well get it out in the open. Sheppard deserved not to have the inevitable put off any longer. Best to let him start dealing with it.

"_Rodney_." Said in stereo by both Carson and Kate at exactly the same time. The last time he'd heard his name in stereo, it had been compliments of his parents when they were standing outside the house as the fire department extinguished the blaze he'd accidentally started in the kitchen

"Hey, it's not like this is going away any time soon. The sooner we stop beating around the bush, the sooner we can figure out a solution."

Sheppard changed his position in the bed. "In other words, in my long line of fucked up days since getting back, you're going to tell me that there's more. Good. Can't wait." Sheppard was trying to get himself turned over onto his side and he wasn't succeeding. Carson went to help, touched a shoulder. Everyone watched as Sheppard went through the roof. He grabbed the bed rail and tried to pull himself away as rapidly as possible and at the same time realized he probably looked like a crazy fool. He recovered his composure, gave a sheepish smile like it was no big deal. Just a pity he sounded like he'd run a marathon.

"Sorry, Carson. Still jumpy."

"I'm the one who should be sorry. I forgot to warn you." Rodney didn't miss Carson catching Kate's eye. If Rodney was a betting man, he thought the look was the one Kate reserved especially for him. The Xanax look. Or maybe the antidepressant look. "I'll leave you alone with Rodney and Kate. They need to talk to you."

Sheppard opened his mouth to say something but Rodney had decided enough was enough. Kate could hand hold all she liked but Sheppard was not a guy who appreciated hand holding. "Time's wasting, let's get this show on the road."

Rodney forced himself out of the recliner and brought his laptop over and plunked it down on the bed table. Kate was shooting him daggers, and more or less shoved him out of the way. He could deal with that if that meant they got to the point sooner. Rodney decided it was like trying to remove a band-aid. Ripping it off quickly with minimum pain was preferable to leisurely and a lot more pain.

"As Rodney was saying, we've got an update for you. I won't kid you that it's good news, but at least we've made a start in trying to help you."

Rodney had enough sense to count to ten and not offer any further comment. Sharing information with Sheppard was not a competitive sport. Kate could at least lead Sheppard into the situation as gently as possible.

"To start with, we've discovered that you're carrying a transmitter."

Sheppard's eyes went wide, as if Kate's statement was confirming something he already suspected. He nodded frantically. "They know. They know everything. You think they don't but they do."

Kate didn't react but cast a glance at Rodney that clearly and specifically said he shouldn't comment either. "It's sending out a signal. We don't know why. Rodney has a theory that it's a homing device."

"It's just a theory mind you," butted in Rodney, trying to follow Kate's lead and couch the news as best he could.

"But if it's a homing signal of some sort, then Atlantis could be in danger. If they know where you are, then they have a way to find us," said Kate.

Sheppard nodded again. "They come back. I think." His eyes were glazing over as if he'd been asked to think of too many things in a short space of time.

"Why do you know that?"

No answer. Kate asked the question again. "John, why do you know that?"

"They told me. Before they sent me back. They said if I was bad they'd come back."

"Bad? What did they mean?"

"I don't know. They weren't big on explanations." He sat up, threw the covers to one side and started hauling himself out of the bed. "I think I'm going to puke."

Rodney watched as Sheppard made a dash for the bathroom. The doors slid open, slid shut. Atlantis doors were helpful like that, no A.T.A gene required. Rodney mentally braced himself for the sound effects, even though the doors were soundproof. Sheppard exited about a minute later.

"False alarm." Sheppard went to the bed and sat on the edge. He looked like he was itching to be up and around but of course, no one was going to let him be up around unsupervised. Not now. Maybe not ever. "Keep going."

Rodney had been around Sheppard almost as long as Kate but he found Sheppard a whole lot harder to read. He certainly couldn't tell what Sheppard was thinking right at this moment. The man had his Sarcasm Mode, and his patented Yell at Rodney in a Crisis Mode but that was about it. Not at lot of depth or breadth when it came to emotional content but that could be said of practically all the military personnel on the base. A soldier's idea of sharing and caring was to find the most repellent non-toxic insect on the mainland and stick it into their compatriot's sleeping bag. As to the scientists, they weren't much better. They liked their own practical jokes but that mostly involved changing out a person's screen saver so that they thought they were seeing a horrendous error message, rather than a screen saver. Rodney could never get enough of watching someone clutching their coffee in horror while their screen mimicked the blue screen of death on shutdown with the message, "Windows has halted your machine due to a critical hardware error."

"Since you have an entire homing beacon wedged into your sinus, we've come up with two options," said Rodney. "The first option – we shield this room. Well, it's not really an option. We're going to do that anyway."

Sheppard gave Rodney a withering look. "I think we're missing the bit where I might want to leave the room."

Rodney ignored Sheppard's glare. "Ah, see that's the problem with that option. You probably couldn't. Not unless I made you a lovely little tin foil hat for your head."

"I hope you're joking, Rodney."

"Of course I am. It wouldn't be tin foil. It tears too easily."

"You'd better have a fantastic second option up your sleeve because at the moment you're dangerously close to a third option. It's the one I like to call 'Kill Rodney where he stands'."

"Kate, tell him to stop!" When in doubt, try and get someone else to back you up. That had always been Rodney's method of operating when confronted with violence. Teachers, the headmaster, his lab partner, anyone who had more backbone than he did. Part of him also thought that in some ways it was good that Sheppard was taking it out on him. At least it was familiar.

"She's not your mother, Rodney. Suck it up and tell me the second option, and remember, it had better be good."

Rodney hesitated. His second option wasn't that great either. "Okay, the second option involves you relocating to the mainland for a while."

"That's it! That's your two great options? Lock me up or throw me out? Neither of them is an option! How about you just try to remove the device. That's a _great_ option!" Sheppard was yelling and when Sheppard yelled, Rodney got nervous and worked faster because he half believed that Sheppard would actually hit him.

"See what I have to put up with? I keep telling you he's a nightmare to work with and you never believe me." Rodney had turned his attention to Kate because if nothing else he wanted some vindication for all the times she'd told him that maybe he was exaggerating Sheppard's attitude just a smidgen. Rodney respected Sheppard, of course he did. It was the yelling he could do without. Even if the yelling had been brought on by Rodney's two crappy options that weren't actually options.

"Don't tell me you spend your time gossiping about me to Kate." Sheppard was off the bed, hands on hips. Kate made a pointed interruption in the rapidly degenerating conversation.

"No one gossips about anyone, Colonel. Sometimes Rodney just uses me as a sounding board."

Sheppard's eyes narrowed dangerously but he seemed to have decided that he wasn't going to press the obvious line of inquiry. Okay, so maybe Sheppard did have some respect for him.

"Anyway, to go back to that third option you mentioned," continued Rodney. "Not the one about killing me, but the one about removing the device. We don't want to risk it. You nearly died."

"Nearly dying doesn't mean actually dying. I'll take the chance."

"Carson won't though and you can't order him to do it, and Elizabeth certainly wouldn't."

"It's my choice, no one else's." Rodney watched in fascination as Sheppard clenched his hands into fists, then uncurled them and crossed his arms. He was miserable, forced down a path he didn't choose by circumstances he hadn't asked for. No one liked losing control, Sheppard even more so. That was the interesting side of the military that Rodney found fascinating – the need to follow orders but the expectation that people could operate independently. Sheppard had always been good at the whole independence scenario.

Kate seemed torn. She wanted to follow her instincts. Move closer, offer a tissue, give a comforting rub on the arm but that was never going to work for Sheppard. Not in his current state.

Sheppard broke the deadlock by abruptly heading for the bathroom again. The doors slid shut and Rodney imagined that he had probably wanted to slam them shut but Atlantis wasn't accommodating when it came to grand gestures.

"That went well. Not," said Rodney for something to say. "What do we do now?"

"I make sure he comes out. You go and see how Elizabeth and Teyla are progressing with getting him set up with the Athosians. I think we can safely say he's not going to cope with being cooped up. I'll let you know when you can come back and shield the room."

"Uh, he'll be okay, won't he?"

"He'll be fine. He's just frustrated."

"Oh. So… Do you want me to get Carson or anything?"

"Yeah, you can update him on the way out."

Rodney's insight into human behavior, the one that seemed to function at half speed and had a lag time of about an hour, decided to insist that he hadn't been as sensitive as he could have been when it came to listing the options. He never had any self doubt when it came to science. He had loads of self doubt when it came to interacting with people. "I didn't do a very good job, did I?"

Kate gave him a weary smile. "You were being Rodney – if that makes any sense."

"Yeah. I know what you mean."

"But a loveable Rodney, as always."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." He paused, eyed up the door of the bathroom. "You know, I could just override that door for you, if you wanted."

"No thanks, Rodney."

"I'll go then."

"Okay."

He let his shoulders sag, and headed out of the room. He really had to practice thinking before he spoke.

((--))

He was in the bathroom, and about a second later, the two paltry pieces of chicken he'd managed to force down his throat made a reappearance into the bowl of the toilet. It was an abrupt puke. The one that caught you off guard after a drunken night out and wound up all over your shoes.

"Crap," he said. Physically, he felt slightly better, at least his stomach wasn't trying for a tap dancing lesson any more. Emotionally, he didn't know what he was doing. His usual standard method of operating was to take an experience, and deliberately not think about it. Shut it away in a corner, put it in a cupboard, and ignore it like a screaming child. A good technique that served him well because nine times out of ten, he couldn't afford to indulge in navel gazing, or even stop to catch his breath. Whatever happened, happened. No use crying over spilt milk. Get up, keep moving. The past is the past. Ignore it, and go somewhere else, anywhere else. When he'd been running around in his pretend apartment, in his imagined lifestyle with Teyla and all his dead friends kept turning up, the alien had said he was good at manipulating his fabricated reality. Of course he was. He'd had to do it too many times to count. If you were going to get hurt, best to be somewhere else.

His usual bag of tricks had been difficult to pull off when he was a guest of the gray gnomes. He was too disoriented, and too terrified.

About all that remained was a deep sense of unease, anger and rage. He was bone tired, but he couldn't sleep for long and when he did sleep he was plagued with nightmares. And because he had nurses wedging their butts into the recliner for the night, he never got to just wake up, have his personal case of the heebie jeebies, talk himself down and go back to sleep. Oh, no. Nothing so simple. No, he woke, usually sitting bolt upright in bed and sweating and before he knew it, some deeply concerned nurse was asking him if he was okay, did he need to see Dr. Beckett, why don't you get changed into a fresh t-shirt, do you need a light sedative, how about a cup of herbal tea, maybe a massage would help. He hated their concern and he hated being vulnerable. If the gray gnomes had violated every sense of safety he had, violated him physically, then Royce had done it all over again by making sure he was one hundred percent aware of it.

Fuck them all. Every single person on Atlantis who expressed their concern while at the same time making sure they stripped him of his dignity. He was so fucking sick of taking it.

There was no way out of the bathroom except out the door and that was back into the room, and back to Kate and Carson and Rodney and any other mother fucking spectator that wanted to make sure he understood how sorry they were.

He lashed out and hit a wall with his fist. The wall didn't yield, and the impact hurt not just his knuckles but his wrist and forearm where the force transmitted along the flesh and bone. Who cared. It was a good kind of hurt. There was a mirror in the room and his reflection clearly said he was far more screwed than the time he'd landed himself with the Article 15. Problem was, he'd forgotten how unforgiving the military were when lines got crossed, even if he thought it was morally justified. He'd been disturbingly close to a court martial, before some horse trading had resulted in non judicial punishment and some sizeable ass kicking from the commander. About the only thing they hadn't done was reduce his rank. He'd had everything else though. Confinement to quarters, extra duty, forfeiture of pay. A big fat black mark on his record.

Someone had left a chair in the corner. Sturdy. Metal. Helpfully provided in case poor Colonel Sheppard needed to sit down. Nice of them to provide him with a weapon of bathroom destruction. He picked up the chair, tested it for heft, and wondered just how sound proof the bathroom doors actually were.

It was a good time to find out. He swung it at the mirror, turned his head as it connected, avoiding the possibility of catching the shards in his face. Turned back and to his complete dissatisfaction found out some conscientious prick had installed safety glass. The mirror had broken and stayed where it was.

He was totally fucked off and disgruntled and in need of an outlet. If he had to start pulling everything apart by hand, then so be it.

He started by kicking the door off the bathroom cabinet.

((--))

Carson and Kate had parked themselves outside of the bathroom door. Forty-five minutes had passed and they kept telling each other that Sheppard being stuck in the bathroom was acceptable. He wasn't near any Ancient technology, his health was good, or at least reasonable. There wasn't anything in the bathroom he could use to hurt himself – Carson had removed the razors and anything else sharp or stabby days ago. John Sheppard just needed an opportunity to calm down, get himself centered and they should give him that opportunity.

But it had been forty-five minutes.

"Kate, I think we need to get in there. He could be sick."

She nodded, even though she'd been hoping he'd come out on his own. The last thing he needed was his one attempt at regaining control to be taken away from him.

Carson got up from the chair, crossed over to the door, the door helpfully slid open, water helpfully ran out.

"Holy…" Carson stopped without completing the sentence. Kate got to her feet, and hurried to where he stood in the entrance seemingly stunned beyond action.

She peeked around him.

John Sheppard was sitting in an empty bath tub surrounded by total destruction. Water was gushing from the cold water faucet that had been unscrewed and stripped off the sink, the legs of the chair were buckled, the toilet bowl had somehow been kicked hard enough to lean at an angle, the bathroom cupboard had been reduced to a pile of splintered wood, the walls had been decorated with shampoo, conditioner and shaving foam, the plastic container provided for toothbrushes had been cracked, liquid soap had been thrown into the river of water swirling around on the floor and the unbreakable shower door was dented and off its hinges.

The only reason he appeared to have quit was that he'd run out of steam and he was soaking wet. His hands and feet were roughed up, covered in scratches. He was however, wearing an exhausted grin.

"Hi guys. I did some remodeling. I like to call it Military Eye for the Straight Guy." Then he started laughing and didn't stop until Carson gave him a sedative.

((--))

The wormhole was dialed up, sitting placidly and waiting for the embarkation of its next traveler.

Royce.

Elizabeth was in the Gate Room because she wanted to see him out of Atlantis personally, mainly to convince herself that he was really gone. If he was one of the good guys, then the good guys were in trouble. Of course, as he'd told her, he hadn't hurt John to get the information. And he hadn't. That was the thing – it was all completely painless for Sheppard in the physical sense. As long as no one counted the invasiveness of Royce's technique.

Royce was smoking another cigar, and she'd given up asking him to stop, another little superiority tactic he handled with aplomb, another way to keep her on the diplomatic back foot. He let her know that in the end, he was still the one wielding the power.

As his last act, he'd delayed going through the stargate so he could open up his suitcase. He'd dragged out two six packs of beer and given them to her.

"I promised these to Colonel Sheppard."

She took the handles on the cartons and felt like an idiot. "I'm sure he'll be touched," she said. Sarcastically.

He didn't reply and zipped his suitcase back up. "By the way, I think the Daedalus is probably due to arrive tomorrow. Colonel Caldwell was briefed about the situation when your first data stream went through. He should be interested in events to date. Pity I'm not here because I like Caldwell, but I'm planning on updating them just as soon as I get back." Royce winked at her and she felt like she was standing in a pool of oil. "Anyway, better go. I'll tell General Landry what a great host you were."

He turned, dragging the suitcase behind him, stepped into the wormhole and disappeared. The 'gate shut off a few seconds later.

Good. She was glad he was gone, it was one giant pain off her list and she had more important items on the agenda.

Like transferring Sheppard to the mainland.

Carson had updated her on Sheppard's meltdown. The bathroom could be repaired, Sheppard was an unknown. Kate had strongly recommended the move to the Athosian village. He was never going to cope with being permanently confined to the infirmary, and he was never going to cope with feeling that not only was he no longer useful but he was a continued risk to Atlantis.

Elizabeth however, had reserved her own worry for the Athosians. They could just as well be swapping the possibility of Atlantis being attacked with the village being attacked if Sheppard was the key target. Teyla had simply shrugged and told her that one human being who may, or may not, pose a danger to them was a non event compared to a culling by the Wraith.

Besides, they owed a debt of gratitude to Colonel Sheppard. He'd saved them and Atlantis many times, and it was the least they could do for him.

Elizabeth had reluctantly agreed. Rodney was under orders to finish shielding the room if they had to bring Sheppard back for any medical emergencies, and to concentrate on analyzing the signal. Carson was coordinating the supply move into the jumper, which medical staff would visit the mainland on a daily basis, and Teyla and Kate were trying to keep Sheppard distracted.

With all the crises whirling around her, and trying to keep Royce under control, she hadn't even had a chance to visit John yet.

She felt guilty and yet a part of her was too scared. She didn't know if she could stand to watch John Sheppard fall apart and as long as she stayed away, she could always remember him as he used to be. Not the person he was rapidly turning into.

She supposed she could be accused of selfishness. Her conscience said she was probably right.

((--))

Nobody liked backseat drivers, or more to the point, backseat jumper fliers. Carson watched as John Sheppard indulged in some fairly petty and uncharacteristic behavior by using his rank to take out his frustrations on the pilot. Thankfully the pilot happened to be Lorne. Lorne was well liked for having the disposition of a saint nine times out of ten. That meant for the most part he was making an admirable attempt at ignoring Sheppard's mood without ignoring his commanding officer.

"Major, am I to believe you fly like this all the time?"

Lorne kept his eyes peeled forward, pretending to study the horizon. "Yes sir, this is the way I always fly."

"You fly like you got your wings out of box of cereal."

"So Dr. McKay keeps telling me, sir."

"Don't you think that perhaps your flying is really bad, if Rodney McKay is _right_?"

"I'd agree with your assessment, sir."

"Stop agreeing with me and tell me how you intend to correct your problem."

"Just as soon as I get back, I'll arrange for some flying lessons, sir."

"Good. While you're at it, maybe you could arrange some flying lessons for your entire squad because I'm sure they're just as-"

"-John, why don't you come and sit down?" Kate had interrupted in an attempt to give Lorne a break. "I was just going to explain to Teyla about shopping online."

It was a decent enough excuse considering she'd had to come up with one on short notice, thought Beckett. But Teyla's expression said that she hadn't remembered agreeing to participate in any such conversation and Sheppard's expression said that even he could guess he was being distracted.

Sheppard scowled at them before sitting down on the bench beside Carson, opposite the two women. He made sure he had at least three feet between himself and Beckett. "If you'd wanted me to shut up, you should have just told me." The comment seemed to be directed at no one in particular.

"Actually, I did really want to tell Teyla about online shopping. She asked me about it over lunch a few weeks ago."

"I did?" Teyla's eyebrows knitted together, then she brightened, as she realized she was supposed to fake interest. "Oh. Yes. I forgot. Thank you for reminding me."

Sheppard sighed. "Here's the concept in a nutshell. Get a credit card, go onto a Web site, spend a shit load of money on shit you don't really want but you do it anyway to get the thrill of a package in the mail. Or in my case, you get the thrill of the package arriving at your shitty, sand blown tent. Usually looking like it had been run over by a tank."

Teyla looked as if she'd been trying to follow the conversation. "Colonel, I understood everything but why would you spend money on excrement?"

Her deadpan delivery, whether intended or not, temporarily silenced Sheppard. He considered her a moment, then broke into a grin. "Don't ever change."

Luckily the distraction was enough for Lorne to complete the landing maneuvers and set down just outside the village. He cycled the door open as rapidly as possible.

"We're here. I mean, we're here, sir." Lorne managed to say the line without sounding relieved.

"Goody," sneered Sheppard and then he stood up and without looking back exited the jumper and headed towards the Athosian welcoming party.

((--))

Rodney had grown to hate the signal. If there was a pattern, he couldn't see one. Not initially anyway. Although he was sure that given enough time, his ninety-nine point ninetieth percentile IQ could solve the problem. He'd taken Cooper's traffic logs, checked back over the days since Sheppard came back. A peak here, a peak there, a peak when he didn't expect it anywhere.

He'd tried indexing the signal to time but that had led nowhere fast. If it was indexed to time, it wasn't Atlantis time. He'd tried a few variations on sidereal time and if the signal was hooked up to an alien's wrist watch, it was not a twelve-hour day, a twenty-four hour day, a thirty-six hour day, or even a forty or forty-eight hour day. It definitely wasn't something as blinding simply as prime numbers, and he was not Jody Foster or Carl Sagan. Nor did it look like any other sort of mathematical premise. Wasn't anything to do with musical notes, the orbit of the planet, the tides, the waxing and waning of the moon, the position of the stars, radiation, solar flares, or anything to do with their own radio traffic. It appeared twice a day, once a day, ten times a day, mostly in the day, sometimes a night.

He closed his eyes, put his hands to his face and let out a heartfelt, "Son of a bitch."

"What is the matter, Rodney?"

He put his hands down, opened his eyes. Zelenka regarded him with a well practiced calmness. He'd seen Rodney having his own version of a meltdown too many times to count.

"I'm trying to analyze the signal if you must know."

"The one that the homing device is generating?"

"Yes, Zelenka. _That _device." Rodney wondered how Zelenka knew. They'd taken some pains to keep Sheppard's current situation under wraps, to keep the gossip and rumors to a minimum. Clearly their plan hadn't worked.

"What are you looking for?" Zelenka had come around to stand beside Rodney and check out the laptop screen.

Rodney sighed in that pointed way he used around Zelenka that said the Czechoslovakian scientist asked some obvious questions. "If you must know I'm trying to detect a pattern."

Zelenka pushed his glasses back up, regarding Rodney with the expression he reserved especially for Rodney. The one he used when he thought Rodney was being particularly dense. "Why are you attempting to find a pattern when you should concentrate on where it is actually going?"

"Your point?"

"The signal must be going somewhere. Signals usually spread too much over long distance in space to be of much use. Take jumper, figure out what they are doing with signal to keep it focused and then attempt to trace to destination point. Find the destination point, find the reason for the device."

Rodney hated it when Zelenka was right. "Crap," he said. Which was about as close as he would ever get to admitting Zelenka had a good idea.

"You are welcome," said Zelenka before he strolled out of the lab.

((--))

A little voice inside of him kept chanting that he wanted to go home. Of course, upon reflection, he'd never had a permanent home. As a child he'd been through a never ending series of family housing on a variety of Army bases, then more bases as a teenager, followed by bases, tents, huts, requisitioned buildings, and prefab shelters as an adult. Atlantis was about as good as it got and just when he was getting comfortable, Atlantis had turned into a non-option.

In his fantasy life, the one where he had a nice apartment and cool toys, he occasionally added a wife and child to the mix. More than once he had wondered what it would have been like to marry, to know that for the most part there was always someone around who understood. In reality the choice of career soldier was tough on the dependants. He knew that fact from first hand experience. Probably explained why he'd shied away from even the remotest possibility of getting himself into the situation in the first place.

So, his old home gone, or more to the point, he was surplus to requirements, and a danger to boot. But his sense of duty was still there, still struggling with the whole situation and he knew that in the end he was honor bound to protect everyone he could. He didn't have to like it, but he did have to fulfill his obligations to protect the inhabitants of Atlantis. He was at a new place, ready to pull the same routine he always did. He would forget about the place he left, the people becoming fond but distant memories and he would place himself squarely into the present. He'd figure out who was who, cement in some working relationships, make sure he didn't piss anyone off too badly in the first month or two. He could do that because he'd done it since he was a five. He'd leave, they'd leave, either way they were gone.

Halling was waiting for him when he stepped out of the jumper, along with Halling's boy, Jinto, and Ronon. Sheppard blinked. How'd Ronon get here? Then he spied two marines heading back towards another jumper. Oh. That explained it. He'd presumably come in with supplies. Ronon did the raised eyebrow greeting gesture. Sheppard nodded back. He might have managed a more verbal greeting if he wasn't so underwhelmingly engaged in the entire situation.

Jinto excitedly jumped up and down "I'm going to stay with my Aunty!"

Halling nodded. "Yes, he is staying with my sister for a week or two. Not that it is much of a shift. He insisted on coming to say hello."

He forced himself to smile at the Jinto, and respond. "I bet you're going to have a fun time with your Aunt."

"She let's me stay up late!" Jinto jumped around again, close to him, and he involuntarily took a step back. Halling immediately picked up on Sheppard's fright.

"Off you go, Jinto. I will come by to tell you a story tonight."

"Sheppard should tell me one," said the boy. "I want him to tell me about Jason and the hockey mask again."

Sheppard tried to think of an excuse but his brain seemed to have forgotten how to think. He was unnervingly focused on the boy's movements and the way he moved like the gray guys.

Halling grabbed Jinto by the back of his shirt, propelled him off in a direction that was away from the group of adults. "That's enough. Off you go and not another word!"

The boy seemed to sense that Halling was serious and without further protest, ran towards a group of shelters, and away from Sheppard. He was grateful because he couldn't remember his shoulders ever being this tense.

Halling stepped forward to give the usual formal Athosian greeting to Sheppard. Halling reached out to grip his shoulders and again, Sheppard found himself instinctively stepping back. It was an automatic defensive maneuver, and he was finding it difficult to push down and control. Halling stopped, took a step back himself. Great, thought Sheppard, let's start your first day in your new home by insulting your hosts. Always a smart move.

"Halling, I'm sorry. I'm just… I've, uh, got this thing going at the moment about getting too close to people. I'll get over it."

Halling nodded. "Do not concern yourself. It is forgotten. Let me show you where we have set you up."

They moved off and he didn't take much notice of the rest of them, as everyone indulged in small talk with each other. Instead, he let his attention wander off to the activity around the village. People walking around, carrying water, or food, or firewood. People stopped to chat to each other. Occasionally they laughed.

Someone was trying to get his attention. "Colonel? Colonel Sheppard?

"What?" He shook himself from his reverie, realized Teyla was speaking to him.

She repeated herself. "We've arrived. Perhaps you could come in and tell us whether you approve of your living arrangements."

"Sure."

He stood outside the roomy circular tent, sort of like a Mongolian yurt. He was surrounded on all sides by the concerned, and the caring – even Ronon for fuck's sake - and he just kept wishing to God they would leave him alone.

((--))

Elizabeth's week just kept getting worse. First Royce and now Steven Caldwell. The only slight kink to the monotony of having to deal with a seemingly unending string of uncontrollable egos was that Hermiod was sitting in her office, along with Caldwell.

Unfortunately for Caldwell, he was hopeless at hiding the fact that he was elated by the prospect of having another shot at commanding the military contingent on Atlantis. No matter how hard he tried to fake the concern angle, his real personality kept bleeding through the carefully neutral wording.

She used exactly the same phrase with Caldwell when Sheppard had been mutating into a human version of an Iratus bug. Nice of you to volunteer to help, but don't mess with the Sheppard's personnel rotations. No matter what you think, he's doing a good job.

As they indulged in their normal round of carefully disguised sniping, Hermiod sat quietly, his feet dangling off the ground. He'd said he was going to stand but then wearily accepted Caldwell's offer to help him sit in a chair.

As the Asgard remained silent, even Elizabeth could tell that Hermiod was preoccupied. He wasn't one for mixing with humans and he seemed to regard his assignment to the Daedalus as the Asgard version of a prison sentence. For all the SGC knew, it probably was.

"Hermiod, I'm pleasantly surprised to see you decided to visit Atlantis."

That seemed to shake the Asgard from his reverie. He narrowed his eyes, regarded her. "Believe me, I am not here for any pleasantries."

Caldwell stepped in, seemingly eager to correct what could be misinterpreted as an insult. "Hermiod is aware of Colonel Sheppard's situation. He'd been fully briefed, by the IOA and updated by the IOA specialist. He's also been in contact with the Asgard High Command and to be honest, I can't tell you any more than that. Apparently whatever's happening is top secret."

Hermiod struggled from the chair. "I apologize, Colonel Caldwell. It was a necessity to ensure we can resolve the situation without drawing undue attention to ourselves."

Elizabeth had never seen a tense Asgard but Hermiod was definitely tense. He was pacing.

"What do you mean, 'undue attention'?" She had a tendency to pick up on seemingly unimportant words. Words that inevitably carried a lot of weight.

Hermiod sighed, stopped pacing, put his arms behind his back. "Every race has their own creation and origin stories. Every story tells of the fight between good and evil. The Asgards have a similar concept."

"I thought the Asgards kept meticulous records. Surely you can trace your origins," said Elizabeth.

"Our true origin is obscured by hundreds of thousands of years. The original records that documented when we first began cloning our own were limited and the data was corrupted. It seemed that there was some sort of split between our evolutionary ancestors. One race became the Asgard, the other race we presumed had died out."

Hermiod stopped. He glanced at Elizabeth, seemingly ashamed. "We do not talk of them, because we hoped the accounts we had recovered were fabrications, or at least exaggerations. You have to understand Dr. Weir – they existed before the Ancients and were dying out as the Ancients became the superior form of life in the Pegasus galaxy. Our ancestors grew jealous as their own powers waned. They could not understand that their time had come. They decided that they would neutralize what they saw as a threat." Hermiod stopped. He obviously had more to say but was deeply uncomfortable with this resurrection of the murky depths of Asgard history.

Elizabeth leaned forward. "Go on."

"They did not consider themselves a cruel race in that they did not think mass extermination presented a viable alternative. They decided instead to begin an experiment in which they tracked individual Ancients with a strong expression of the A.T.A gene. They became obsessed in trying to determine if they could somehow neutralize the use of the gene, and by doing so, whether through force, or natural selection, prevent the gene from being passed to progeny. Part of the experiment involves extreme reactions in the user to any Ancient technology, as well as an inability to be in physical contact with others. "

Elizabeth frowned. "We thought it was a stress reaction."

"Yes, that is correct. But they heighten the responses. Physical illness, nervousness, agitation. The ones that survived the experiment were extremely traumatized. The survival rate of the returnees was low. Most did not live more than five years."

"How did they die?" Caldwell asked the question and Elizabeth was surprised by his sudden show of concern. For once, the concern seemed genuine.

Again, Hermiod hesitated. He didn't want to be the one that had to share this particular chapter of the Asgard version of the evil.

"They died by their own hand. They stopped eating, they descended into madness. The Ancients tried their best to help those that were returned but there was little choice. They either slowly went mad in a hospital room and their minds were lost, or they killed themselves."

Hermiod was silent and so were Elizabeth and Caldwell. Elizabeth blinked rapidly, her vision had suddenly blurred.

She wasn't surprised when she reached up to wipe at her eyes and found that she'd wiped away a tear.

((--))


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Rodney was sitting in the co-pilot's seat of the jumper, trying to get a fix on the homing beacon's signal. Some young grunt, who was apparently named Bronson, was acting as pilot. Bronson didn't seem the least impressed with Rodney, or Rodney's mission. Mostly the marine sat at the controls, staring straight ahead and avoiding conversation.

Not that being in a room with people who ignored him had ever stopped Rodney McKay from having a conversation.

"Anyway, as I was saying, the entire point of this flight is to get some destination coordinates for the signal, if possible. Could be tricky considering the spread rate on radio frequencies, but I'm working on the assumption that they somehow boost it or keep it focused. And how, Dr. Rodney McKay, would you do this? Well, I'm glad you asked my silent friend-"

"-Why has your laptop stopped beeping?" Bronson had spoken at last.

Rodney realized he'd been so preoccupied talking to the marine, he'd actually missed the fact that the signal had gone. "What, the..?"

He used his stylus to tap a few icons on the PC tablet and filter on a wider set of frequencies. For a moment he thought he'd lost the signal amongst the general background noise level that happened to exist in outer space. But no, it seemed to have completely gone.

"That's not right. Bronson, start tracking back towards Atlantis, same flight path. Let's see if I can pick it back up."

Bronson didn't acknowledge him, but he did change course. Rodney considered this as fairly rude. After all, wasn't Rodney in charge of this expedition and Bronson just a glorified cab driver? He was about to begin a lengthy tirade about the importance of people skills in the military when the signal flicked back onto his screen.

Weird. For some reason it was there, and then it wasn't, and signals just didn't disappear. Then again, he still hadn't managed to find any pattern that activated the transmission, so the fact that it was randomly vanishing shouldn't have amazed him.

"Let's go around the block again," he said and thought he sounded more and more like Sheppard every day. Hang around the tactical teams long enough and it was inevitable that he'd wind up talking like he'd had a bit part in _NYPD Blue_.

Bronson did an admirable job of not glaring at yet another order, and did as he was told, guiding the jumper into a long sweeping arc around the same area of space. The signal bounced back into life at a certain distance, and then promptly stopped at a certain distance. Rodney frowned. It was very, very strange.

"What the hell is going on?" Rodney asked himself and concentrated on the screen of the laptop, waiting for the detection application to give him some kind of hint about the exact nature of the problem.

"Is it anything to do with that bright object at our eight?"

"What?" Rodney shifted his attention away from his laptop and towards the front of the jumper. From the cockpit window he could see an intense point of light, seemingly hovering just outside the jumper. Actually, it _was_ just outside the jumper. Bronson had essentially parked within spitting distance.

Rodney concentrated, called the HUD up onto the cockpit window and got a scan. Couldn't quite believe what the HUD was telling him.

A controlled micro fracture in subspace. Just sitting there, no visible technology to generate it, or even to stabilize the fracture; unthreatening and innocent, too small to suck in anything bigger than a pebble and large enough to pull in, and focus, the signal. Presumably to route it to God knows where.

The aliens had figured out a way to sit in subspace and peek into normal space without having to take themselves out of subspace to do it. Scarily impressive, emphasis on the word _scary_.

Rodney had a mental image of someone on the other side of the subspace fracture mimicking the same actions. Somebody staring out at him, while he stared back. As if in response to his thoughts, the fracture seemed to expand slightly.

"Oh no, that's not good, that's not good at all," said Rodney. Because it wasn't and the fracture was getting bigger, and taking on the appearance of a hole that might just either suck them in, or throw something at them. "Back us out of here, Bronson. Now."

Bronson didn't need to be told twice. Actually he didn't even need to be told once. As soon as he'd seen the rift expanding, he'd started pulling the jumper around.

The fracture seemed to have made up its mind that it wanted breakfast. Breakfast being one Atlantis jumper. Rodney glanced at the monitor, showing a sizeable chunk of what was rapidly evolving into a subspace portal, and hoped they were out of range before gravity and momentum came up and grabbed their collective butts.

Bronson didn't reply to Rodney's urgent demand but just gripped the flight controls for all they were worth and seemingly concentrated hard on just one word: fast.

The jumper obligingly did as it was directed, and the fracture began to recede. Rodney only began to relax when the phenomena has turned into an insignificant dot.

Bronson finally decided to ask a question. "What was that?"

"Trouble," replied Rodney.

((--))

First nights in a strange environment usually precluded sleep for anyone but the most confident, or tired, of souls. There was the room to adjust to, a different bed, you stubbed your toes when you tried to find the bathroom, maybe you had to eat at a later time, or earlier, or the food unsettled your stomach, or you had too much alcohol, or coffee.

For Sheppard, the night had been that sense of adjustment magnified by anxiety and sickness.

His personal posse of concerned medical staff had walked him over to the shelter the Athosians had set up for him and it pretty much looked like the room in the infirmary, right down to the stupid bed. In fact, it _was_ the stupid bed. His gear was there and he presumed Ronon and the other marines had helped with the shift. They'd moved everything he had. His clothes, his laptop, his guitar, _War and Peace_. The occasional off world knick knack. Insultingly there was also a locked medical cabinet made of sturdy metal. As if he had any inclination to start a sideline in swiping pharmaceuticals.

Atlantis it seemed had officially divorced him. The moving truck had turned up, loaded his gear, driven away and dumped him out of restraining order distance. He wondered if they expected him to cough up alimony payments.

They were so proud of themselves for taking so much time to get his new living arrangements arranged, they were crestfallen when he could only stand in the room, trying hard not to lose it completely and start screaming in frustration.

Kate's attempt at some on the spot counseling hadn't worked either. She'd started in with some platitude, something about knowing how hard it must be to adjust to so much change, and his response hadn't been polite.

"Get the fuck OUT!" He said the statement with enough of a decibel level to raise the dead. Not his finest moment. Beckett and Kate had startled and he could see from their expressions that instead of doing what they were told, they were wondering just how crazy he was.

Teyla stepped in on his behalf.

"The Colonel has had a long day. I think it's best if we leave him to unpack." Teyla smiled kindly, nodded in his direction. Ronon and Halling took her lead and they collectively began to herd Kate and Carson out of the room. Carson looked displeased and he managed to stop the herding long enough to give Sheppard one last instruction.

"Richard's coming over tomorrow in the jumper to change your dressings. Don't go anywhere."

Teyla was the one to give him a gentle push out the tent flap. She stopped, and turned, gave him an encouraging smile. "I will back soon, Colonel. You should unpack."

She didn't stop to hear his reply, not that he had one and then they were gone and he was alone. He was grateful that Teyla was running interference for him and he should probably do as she asked.

Unpacking wasn't going to take long. The only thing he had on him was his backpack and there wasn't much in there, just the standard extended trip essentials like his toothbrush and toothpaste. He threw the backpack on the bed, stood there, felt adrift. He was floating off somewhere, rudderless and the shore was beginning to recede. How he was going to get back, he didn't know.

"Colonel?"

Teyla was suddenly back in the shelter, and she'd only just left. Or maybe she'd been gone awhile. Hard to tell. He blinked a couple of times, tried to refocus his eyes away from the spot on the floor he's been staring at for God knows how long.

'Yeah?"

"I thought I would show you around the village; introduce you to a few people. Then we could go to dinner. Does that sound to your liking?"

Well, better than nothing, although the thought of eating made his stomach simultaneously rumble and hit him with nausea. Carson had tried giving him a small dose of chlorpromazine as an anti-emetic but it hadn't made any difference and then Carson had made him choke back a protein shake anyway. It seemed to have stayed where it was but that had been about four hours ago, and a protein shake did not maketh a man. "Yeah."

She glanced down at his much loathed flip flops. "The ground is a muddy around some areas. Your footwear is not suitable. Let me get you something sturdier."

She promptly exited again, and he thought he'd better get himself organized, so he actually did remove the contents of his backpack, shoving the items away in an empty cabinet that was another piece of furniture gifted from Atlantis. He'd barely shut the drawers when she came back. That was Teyla. As fast and as supple as a cat.

Teyla was clutching what appeared to be clogs. Leather top, no back, solid wooden platforms. She held them out to Sheppard, and from the way she was holding them, she fully expected him to take them and be grateful.

Okay, he'd vowed not to piss of his new hosts, so he kicked off the plastic nightmares, and put on the clogs. His feet were marginally warmer but that was about it.

"I've gone from beach bum to hippy. Fantastic. By the way, I don't do clog dances, or stick my fingers into leaking dams."

Clearly, she didn't get the joke in the sentence, but from her non reaction it confirmed his theory that Athosians were genetically incapable of being anything but diplomatic.

"Time for a walk," said Teyla. Of course, he could have refused, and there wasn't much she could have done about it, but she was using her command voice – the one that made dogs and small children do as they were told. So he shuffled forward, got his rhythm with yet more unmanly footwear and clomped off behind her.

There were a lot of tents and shelters in the village and people going about their business. The Athosians had settled wholeheartedly on their new planet. There were areas for farming on the outskirts, domesticated animals, a water supply setup from a nearby stream, even a blacksmith. Everyone seemed happy, but then it was obvious just from being around Teyla that adversity was as familiar to the Athosians as breathing. If life handed the Athosians lemons, they wouldn't just stop at making lemonade – they'd figure out how to trade with lemons, and probably figure out a way to use them as a weapon.

Maybe he shouldn't be so damn self pitying. He'd been wallowing of late. Something he normally tried hard to avoid.

Having received a protracted tour that circled the village at least twice, and being introduced to anyone within sight, being forced to admire the Athosian versions of a cow, a goat and a horse, and having impromptu lessons in everything from smithying to pottery creation, he was prepared to just go and lie down. It wasn't that he hadn't seen these sights before but now Teyla was using them as a method of distraction. A distraction that wore him out.

But first there was dinner to contend with. Athosians liked communal meals. Sort of a cross between the Atlantis cafeteria and a hotel buffet. The table to one side was piled with food and everyone was helping themselves. The smell wasn't any good, hit him in both nostrils, made him want to turn around and leave again.

Teyla seemed to be have been briefed on that problem. She sat him down at the table, fetched a plate and a bowl, and brought it back. She'd placed a little of everything on the plate. Ronon had also joined them and he seemed to have no problems with the quality or smell of the food. He was gorging like a lion at a fresh kill.

Teyla checked with Sheppard to see if he wanted to remain. "Do you want to eat this at your place?"

He'd vowed that he was going to play as nice as he could since they were putting up the accommodation and all, and he'd been in a crap mood since leaving Atlantis, so the least he could do was sit and not offend whoever did the cooking. Or offend the people who kept smiling at him, making sure he was feeling included.

Thirty minutes of effort resulted in a couple of bites of bread, two spoonfuls of soup and endless cups of water. It was like some sort of tactical strategy. Take a small bite after ignoring the odor, chew carefully, wash down with water, swallow reluctantly and wait for any signs of the need to dash outside. His body was getting a little desperate and sending out all the wrong signals. He wanted food, didn't want food, wanted people to talk to, didn't want people near him, wished he had a home, couldn't find a place to settle, wanted to be back on Atlantis, wanted to have never heard of Atlantis.

His stomach decided that it was leaning more towards not wanting food. He quit eating, not that he'd eaten much. Halling was sitting opposite him, with Teyla, the nearest person on his side giving him plenty of elbow room.

Ronon had moved onto seconds and abruptly decided to start a conversation. "Halling needs someone to check out his trap lines. I was thinking of going tomorrow, maybe do some hunting. We can leave early. "

He cheered up. He wasn't an active hunter but the Athosians supplemented their food sources with wild game and if anything the activity would get him away from all of the people. Just him and Ronon. He could cope with that.

"Sounds interesting," replied Sheppard, managing to gain some enthusiasm.

"Halling's giving us pack animals, so you can ride."

Teyla gave them both a look, raised an eyebrow. "I do not remember Dr. Beckett saying you could go hunting, or go riding. In fact, I distinctly remember him saying that Richard was going to arrive in the morning." Teyla was doing an admirable impression of a combination of Carson and his grandmother. On his father's side. A nurse in World War Two. She wasn't one to be messed with but she was definitely the person to have around in an emergency.

"I'll check with him, make sure it's okay. I brought along my radio." They'd made him take along his radio so that they could call Atlantis in an emergency. "Let me check."

Teyla relented and he left the table, wandered back to his tent. Got out his radio and didn't call because he knew exactly what Carson would say. Mostly it would feature the word, 'no' many, many times.

After a suitable delay, he strolled back to the tent and rolled out his carefully considered lie and Teyla trusted him, because she always had and always would, and she replied that if it was fine with Beckett it was fine with her.

Good one John Sheppard. Lying to Teyla and skipping out on a scheduled appointment because doing some guy bonding with Ronon was somehow more important. This was perilously close to the time he'd managed to pull off a case of bald faced lying to his father about staying over night at his friend's house and then completely and utterly trashing the one remaining sliver of trust they had. He did go to his friend's house. Just failed to mention the whole party, beer keg, lack of parental supervision angle. Couldn't continue the lie when he was dragged home by the local police after the party got shut down and he was caught underage, plastered by alcohol and sporting a black eye from a fight. His father, as usual, resorted to military style justice and made him dig a hole in the backyard while he had a hang over. Shortly after that he'd been packed off to military school, and that saw him meandering towards his predestined and poorly considered career path.

He stayed around in the tent after the snack, the Athosians giving him his space and he was grateful for that. Teyla hovered, but kept herself talking to Halling and a couple of others about some village business and he was left to hunker down in a chair and do nothing.

Must have dozed off at some point because Ronon was prodding him awake with a stick. If it wasn't so pathetically sad, it would be funny.

"You need to go to sleep," he said. Ronon was big on stating the obvious. Then he handed Sheppard a lamp.

He regarded the Satedan, and he was in a querulous mood. "Why are you here anyway big guy? You hate all this touchy, feely, concerned shit."

Ronon looked him directly in the eye. "Something happens, you might need backup. Or they might need backup. I thought I'd stick around."

Yeah, Ronon was always good at the backup. He took the lamp, mumbled his thanks and headed back towards his tent, Teyla tagging along. He reached the shelter, turned at the entrance. The village was unexpectedly illuminated considering they only used candle power, fires and some strategically placed solar powered lighting.

"Uh, good night then," he said.

"Good night," said Teyla. She pointed to a tent directly opposite his. "If you need anything don't hesitate to come and find me."

Suureeeee. Like that was ever going to happen. He'd had quite enough of people hovering while he slept. Although, it was weird having the leash loosened – Carson and Kate probably had a plan but who knew what it was. Maybe the plan was simply to get him out of everyone's hair. Now that he was, all the supervision was no longer necessary. He was like a broken toy, safely put in the garbage and no longer a danger to the kids.

Crap, he was back to wallowing again.

Teyla hadn't bothered to hang around; she just said her piece and went back to her own place. He watched her go, made sure she actually went inside, and then regarded his own home, cast in shadows. The shadows rapidly freaked him out. He fumbled towards the other lamps, and the battery and solar powered lights that they'd given him from Atlantis and made sure every one was turned on. As he concentrated on the task he tried ignoring the way he was starting to sweat, and the pounding of his heart. Too much adrenaline and no way to get rid of it. An insistent voice in his head was telling him that he only way he would feel safe was to check the room for problems and by problems he knew that he actually meant the gray guys. Or to shorten the whole moniker, just Grays.

The easiest way solve the conundrum was to do what his voice was telling him. He'd been in enough combat situations to trust his instincts and if his instincts said he needed to check out the immediate environment to feel the situation was safe, then that's just what he was going to do.

Problem was he'd feel a whole lot safer if he was doing the checking with a P90. The best he could come up with in the way of a weapon was his clogs. Yeah, he could beat any stray Gray to death with his left shoe – his staff sergeant would have been so proud of him.

He slid his shoes off, kicked the right one out of the way, held the lamp and the shoe for all they were worth and went exploring. Checked the corners, checked behind the cabinets. Got down on his knees, checked under the bed, even though it was blatantly obvious there was nothing under there to begin with. There were very few places for creepy Grays to hide and a rational man would have concluded at first sight of the room that it was safe. But he wasn't rational.

If anyone came in at this point in time, he figured he'd be shipped off to a padded cell so fast, they'd make his head spin. He didn't care. The room was secure and that was all he was concerned about at that particular minute.

He was too tired to change out of his clothes, all he did was take off his jacket. Made sure that the lamp was strategically positioned within reach, and still working. Climbed into the bed. Settled down.

He was instantly wide awake. He'd heard an unfamiliar sound. The sounds of nature. Then more sounds. Something yelped in the night, he thought he heard some nocturnal bird calling. He hadn't realized how quiet Atlantis was.

He closed his eyes, tried sleeping but the sounds brought him back to reality within a few seconds, his senses pitched towards detecting the first signs of trouble. His stomach decided that although there was no need to throw up, over producing stomach acid would be a good idea and he could feel an unhappy gnawing pain clawing its way up his esophagus. He tossed, he turned, but it made no difference and he was alone, and being alone didn't seem like such a good idea any more. He wished the nurse was back. Or maybe he should go and find Teyla but he didn't know how to explain his unexpected desperation for company without sounding pathetically needy.

Sheppard concluded that he'd definitely lost the power of coherent thought, or at least the power to stick to one thing at a time or the power to make up his mind.

Seemed that the Grays' agenda was to make him go insane slowly, rather than fast. If that was the intended outcome he'd really like to get it over and done with because presumably when he was completely nuts, he wouldn't care about any of this shit any longer.

((--))

Elizabeth was in conference with Carson, Kate and Rodney. Caldwell had insisted on intending, especially since he had his new temporary duties as 2IC of Atlantis to contend with. Hermiod was also grudgingly in attendance again, permanently embarrassed that the Asgard's dirty little evolutionary secret had been discovered.

The meeting was a long one and that was on top of a long day. Rodney shared his findings about the subspace micro fracture. He seemed torn between being excited about the phenomena's existence and the implications that the fracture entailed.

The only conclusion that they could come to was that they had been right in moving Sheppard out of Atlantis. Not that it made anyone happier. Except, maybe, for Caldwell.

Her primary concern remained. Sheppard had been left alone on the mainland with the Athosians. With the bad news delivered by Hermiod, it hardly seemed an acceptable course of action.

Kate fiddled with her laptop, called up some data. "My initial assessment is that Colonel Sheppard is coping with the situation. He's got some free floating anxiety due to chronic stress, possibly severe, but that's completely expected. Considering the alternatives, I didn't see any harm in letting him have some time to himself over night. Besides, Teyla, Halling and Ronon have been briefed and they're keeping their eye on him."

Caron nodded his concurrence. "Aye. He's been having a tough time of it. On top of everything else the man finds himself out of a job, which would be one way for him to keep his mind occupied on other matters." His statement was concluded with a pointed look at Caldwell.

"What about the health issues? You told me that he's all ready having problems eating," said Elizabeth.

"He seems to be able to keep down small amounts at the moment, although its not entirely consistent. I'm hoping stepping up the frequency might help and I can try other methods if its too severe. Entereal feeding or TPN might be a way to go, but I don't want to go down that route unless we're sure. Let's give it another couple of days and then reassess."

That just left a report from Caldwell and Hermiod. All eyes focused on Hermiod, ignoring Caldwell for the moment.

"I must inform you that progress has not been as swift as I would like and that I require assistance from Dr. McKay."

Rodney's eyes widened at the news. "I don't believe what I'm hearing. Hermiod needs my assistance. Are you totally sure about that Hermiod? I mean, you don't want to be checked out by Carson instead for an explanation about your drop in brain cells-"

He didn't get a chance to finish. Elizabeth had opened her mouth to tell him to stop but Kate beat her to it by elbowing him in the ribs.

"Ow!" McKay rubbed his side, glared at Kate. "What the hell was that for?"

"Rodney, remember how we have all those talks about how upset people get when other people gloat about their superiority?"

"Hermiod's not people, he's Asgard."

"Rodney, it's a universal principal."

"Oh." He seemed to consider what he'd just said and did his best to offer an apology. From Rodney, that meant he ignored what he'd just said and pretended nothing had happened. "So, uh, Hermiod, what would you like me to help you with?"

Hermiod hadn't stopped scowling but he at least seemed willing to continue. "The plan developed by the Asgard High Command is to directly beam the homing beacon out of Colonel Sheppard. We are presuming the beam out will be faster than the device's ability to control Colonel Sheppard's autonomic responses."

It was time for Rodney to scowl. "Beam it out? That's an extremely narrow focus on the beam. Are you even sure you can keep it contained?"

"It is not normally a technology we use but it employs the same principle that keeps the sub space micro fracture contained. I will need your help to ensure that the beam is modified and correctly focused to the right diameter and the right depth. I will also need the data from the last scan that Dr. Beckett performed on Colonel Sheppard and when I am ready, Colonel Sheppard must be brought back to Atlantis."

From the way Rodney had gone pale, she didn't know if she should be happy or frightened by Hermiod's proposed cure. "Rodney, what are the implications?"

"The same implications there always are for a beam out. Wrong spatial coordinates, one minor misstep on plotting X & Y amongst others and the beamee winds up in a bulk head. In this case, we get this wrong by even a millimeter and we've beamed off half of Sheppard's face along with the homing beacon."

Now she understood why Hermiod seemed ever so slightly depressed.

"You see my problem, Dr. Weir," said Hermiod.

She certainly did. Even worse, their choices kept being limited. Ban Sheppard to the mainland and keep him there until the aliens decided to come looking, or try an experimental technique that, if it didn't outright kill him, would leave him disfigured.

She found herself staring at Hermiod and pondering just how fragile Asgards actually were. They looked like they could be damaged easily and if one of Hermiod's ancient cousins ever came back, she'd make sure that she personally snapped an arm herself.

((--))

Richard arrived on a jumper the next morning, as instructed. He carried his medical supplies, and a long list of instructions from Dr. Beckett.

Several helpful Athosians pointed him in the direction of Sheppard's tent. He politely called out, and waited, called again, no response. There was no door to knock on, so he pushed aside the tent flap and entered.

The place was completely empty. He hit his comms button, put a hand to his earpiece.

"Colonel Sheppard?"

His voice echoed around the tent in stereo. He called again, heard his voice coming from a cabinet by the bed. He opened it, found Sheppard's radio tucked down the back.

Not good, not good at all. He left the tent, started to head back to the jumper and was intercepted by Teyla. Richard filled her on the situation. Her eyes narrowed.

"He told me that he had checked with Dr. Beckett." She wasn't pleased.

"No, not that I'm aware of. Do you know where he's gone?"

"Out hunting with Ronon. They will not return until nightfall."

"Do you know where they went?"

"No. Halling has a trap line that he runs but after they have checked the traps, they will follow whatever game is available."

"Hey, thanks. I'd better go and tell Dr. Beckett."

"Do you require assistance? I can gather some of my people, and we can try to find him."

"Thanks, Teyla. I'll let you know after I've talked to Dr. Beckett."

He headed back towards the jumper, Teyla falling in beside him. Dr. Beckett wouldn't be happy. Not happy at all.

((--))

Carson wasn't happy, not happy at all. He became incredibly irritated by non compliance in patients because he always thought he made it perfectly clear that if they followed his instructions, they'd get better faster. Non compliance just made for a longer recovery time.

Richard had informed him of Sheppard's intentional vanishing act. He was so infuriated he had to tell Richard that he needed some time to consider their next course of action, so they might as well come back to Atlantis. Actually he had needed time to talk to Kate. In his current frame of mind, the Hippocratic Oath was in serious danger of being dishonored.

"He's done a bloody runner on me."

Kate sat down in one of her office chairs using her professionally studied casualness. "It's not totally unexpected."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That he's trying to get some regain some sense of autonomy. Everyone else has been making the calls for him since he got back and I presume he's sick of it."

"I told him Richard would be turning up and he ignored me. Worse, he lied about it."

"He's stressed. Sometimes people don't behave as they would normally would, depending on the stress level."

"You're being bloody calm about the entire thing."

"What's the bottom line, Carson? Think about what he's facing, about the decision he's going to have to make. You can't begrudge him one day, just one day to feel like he's an adult, that he's doing something normal. Give him that chance."

Carson spluttered at the concept but then he considered and realized that yes, what Kate had said was true. One day wouldn't make a difference, not when weighed up against the days that had passed and the days to come. Life may never be entirely normal for Colonel Sheppard again, so who was he to demand that the man bow down to yet more orders?

((--))

The Athosian version of a pack animal looked like a short, squat moose with a short trunk type nose. They'd almost be cute except for their habit of spitting and they weren't exactly comfortable to ride.

He'd almost been gobbed on twice by the time he'd managed to get into the saddle. Turned out the moose had a good range of movement on their necks and they liked to go for a spit over their shoulders. Luckily he'd ducked and after a battle with the reins, the moose had given up and proceeded to plod behind the other two animals in the train, led by Ronon.

Their barrel like torso meant that his inner thigh muscles were being forced into an uncomfortable stretch. He doubted he'd be able to get off without some help in a couple of hours, and tomorrow he wouldn't be able to move.

Still, he'd rather have that than being stuck in a tent while Richard changed the dressings. Richard was a nice enough guy, but the thought of someone having to touch him made him queasy.

The moose stopped abruptly to take a leak. No one went into those minor inconveniences when they talked about the joys of riding. In TV and movies it was all about sleek, good looking horses doing what they were told and galloping majestically into the sunset. In reality they stopped to answer the calls of nature at all the wrong times, abruptly refused to jump at the wrong moment, wandered in the wrong direction if they spied a juicy looking plant, or went at the wrong speed. Sure, there might be well trained animals out there but they were a small minority. There was a large amount of fallout from little girls wanting to learn to ride, usually in the shape of horses with stubborn attitudes and an aversion to anything with jodhpurs and a riding cap.

Ronon stopped the animals, made a signal to Sheppard to dismount if he could. Sheppard did as he was told, slid out of the saddle, tried not to look as if he was waddling like a duck. Ronon was standing beside a trap laid down for smaller animals. Sheppard came to stand beside him to view the dead animal that looked like a bunny crossed with a rat.

Ronon poked a stick into the snare, undid the rope from around the creature's neck. The trap was designed to wrap around the animal, pulling tight as the animal struggled to run away and choke it to death. Not the most humane way to trap an animal but Sheppard knew that the Athosians really didn't have much of a choice in their methods. At least this way the animal didn't have to thrash about in a gin trap until a hunter dispatched it, or chew off its own foot to escape.

Ronon passed the carcass over to Sheppard while he reset the trap. "Put it into the sack on the side of the first animal. That's where Halling wants us to keep the smaller game. Large game goes over the second animal."

Sheppard did as he was told and went to stuff the creature into the sack. The tiny animal was limp, and cold and the fur felt wrong in his hands. Something wasn't right.

The pain that hit him in his sinus was far worse than any cold. Then his head. He dropped the animal, doubled over almost instantly, as if that would somehow make the pain go away. He put his hand to the side of his head, clenched his teeth out of instinct. His breathing and heart rate went through the roof.

He must have cried out when the first wave of pain hit him, because Ronon was there trying to help, but Ronon was helping him by holding his shoulders and Sheppard tried to push himself away, but couldn't get any of his limbs to work and it was familiar, it was all too familiar.

"_Son of a bitch_!" He managed to scream that out, got it into the open because he didn't know how his entire body could be in pain like this. It was like being electrocuted and he was on the ground curling into a tight ball, miserable, unable to think, or concentrate except for the pain that kept moving around his body.

Ronon had dropped to his knees beside him, tried to check him, but all Sheppard could do was squirm on the ground, gravel and grass scraping into the right side of his face. Ronon tried touching him once more, Sheppard screamed. Someone was trying to poke his eye out with a hot needle again.

"Sheppard, do you want me to get help?"

Sheppard tried shaking his head, didn't know if Ronon could make it out with all the shaking his body seemed to be doing.

"No. No. Don't. I'll be-" He didn't get a chance to finish. He screamed again, and then when the pain subsided just a fraction, he was reduced to sobbing.

"I'm going to get help."

"No. Please. God. No. Don't, don't leave. Me." He was scared, scared to death and it was a hard to thing to admit. Especially to someone like Ronon. Ronon wasn't scared of anything and how did it look to him, a warrior, to see Sheppard begging for company? Besides, he didn't think anyone could help him anyway, except to knock him unconscious.

Ronon seemed to make a decision. He grabbed a canteen out of a pack, two blankets. He folded one blanket, placed it under Sheppard's head, put a blanket over him. Put the canteen beside him.

"I'm going to get help." His voice was more determined this time.

Sheppard started to cry because he was in pain, because no one ever took any notice of him, because it was another person leaving him and what the fuck was up with all this abandonment of late anyway? He didn't make any sounds when he cried, but he could feel the tears rolling down his face and it was just another crummy event in what had started out to be such a great day.

Ronon bent down beside him, wiped at Sheppard's face with the end of his coat sleeve. Matter-of-fact, it's over with.

"You need help. If I stay with you, you might die."

The pain receded enough for him to get out a full sentence. "I'm probably going to die if you leave." Then the pain smacked him around again, and he was clawing at the ground with his hands, dragging his fingernails through the dirt, praying just praying to any deity out there to do something and he promised he would never, ever ask for unimportant stuff again. No more idle wishes to win the lottery or get that Ferrari. No, he wouldn't ask, never again. Just for this one trade. Just make it go the fuck away.

Something had caught Ronon's attention. He was looking up and over Sheppard. Ronon's face wore that familiar look that said they were in trouble. Fight or flight. Usually he went down the fight route.

Sheppard managed to twist his head around, saw what had pulled Ronon's attention. A bright tear in the sky, down near the horizon, down near them. Getting bigger, ripping open the reality before them.

Something was at the other end. Something that wanted him, wanted him badly.

He tried to get to himself up, he could at least try to crawl away but nothing was happening. They were going to take him back. He'd been bad. He wasn't sure how. But he'd never been sure when his father had told him he was bad either. He started screaming again but it wasn't because of the pain this time around. He wasn't going back, he wasn't.

Last time there had been no one around conscious enough to help him. This time around there was Ronon.

"We're going." Ronon bent down, grabbed one of his arms and somehow got him into a fireman's lift. Then dumped him over the back of the moose with the spitting problem. The delicate question of whether it was okay to move Sheppard in his current condition, or the fact that Sheppard hated anyone touching him was out weighed by the sub space portal opening up on a beautiful spring day in the middle of the woods.

Sheppard couldn't see much from his position as the new luggage, just that Ronon was giving the moose a hard smack on the rump. The moose protested but began moving.

The position made the pain worse. He tried not to scream, bit his lip, felt the sweat dripping off his forehead and down the tip of his nose, watched the ground passing before his eyes.

The moose stopped at one stage, and he heard Ronon say something in Satedan. Ronon came around to stand in front of Sheppard. Braced his feet and legs. Must have meant he had out his blaster. Sheppard twisted he head slightly, all he was capable of. Saw that the subspace portal had grown enough to suck in the two pack animals that wandered behind them. The portal was growing bigger and tracking them. The animals' heads jerked up, they started to run but they'd left it too late and the portal pounced and sucked them in like a giant mouth. The moose let out their own equivalent of a scream.

Why they hadn't taken him all ready, he didn't understand. But the delay was scaring the crap out of him and it was getting to the stage where it was going to be literal, not figurative.

Ronon's hands moved up, a movement that seemed as if he'd positioned his blaster, and then Sheppard heard the crackle of energy being let loose. Another shot. And Another.

He couldn't move his head, didn't want to risk looking back, but he did and the portal was on top of them, and in the light were figures. He knew what they were. Knew exactly.

Okay, he wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere but here.

Blood began trickling out of his nose again, he could feel it dripping out of his nostril, along with the sweat coming off the end, and he was going to puke. He screwed up his eyes, waited. He had to find some way to make this go away.

Antarctica. Snow. Flying. He was flying over the snow.

Cold. Perpetual daylight. Glaciers. Mountains.

Whiteness.

Oblivion.

((--))

Rodney was in a lab on the Daedalus and officially creeped out. The only way they could practice focusing the beam was to build a test dummy. One that happened to have all the same body measurements as Sheppard, right down to an exact replica of his skull, sinus cavities, and teeth. They spent all night making the test dummy and making a replica of the homing beacon based on the few readings Beckett had managed to capture and they placed it in the sinus of their test dummy and then practiced correctly focusing the beam.

So far they had destroyed the dummy's eye, half of the gel that was mimicking the brain, the lower jaw and a quarter of the tongue.

Some biologist had been asked to help cast up extra parts so that every time they failed they could just snap in a new eye, or whatever.

It was gross and McKay had to fight to keep from throwing up every time another piece of the substitute Sheppard wound up on the beaming platform they'd built. Unbelievably Hermiod actually tried to give all the miscalculations a positive spin.

"At least we have retrieved the homing beacon every single time."

"Yeah, that's good. Pity we've screwed up Sheppard every time we've done this."

"We only destroyed brain matter once. Every other time the injuries would have been survivable."

Rodney couldn't believe his ears. "Don't even go there."

"Dr McKay, if it is a choice between Colonel Sheppard's continued existence with some permanent injury and being dead, I think the preferable choice would be the injury."

"Cute. Maybe we should try it out on you first and see what your opinion is after I beam off a leg."

Hermiod's reply was cut off by a call from Atlantis. It was Elizabeth and she sounded frantic.

"Rodney, there's been an emergency. They're beaming Sheppard to the Daedalus' sickbay. Get down there. Carson's on his way."

He dropped everything, leaving behind the pretend Sheppard and running off to find out what was wrong with the real one.

He just prayed it wasn't anything bad. He wasn't any good at fixing people.

((--))


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Rodney kept running, all the way from the labs, through the Daedalus' corridors, smack into the sickbay and controlled chaos.

Carson, Theodore Jacobson – Daedalus' own doctor – and the sickbay's nursing staff had completely surrounded Sheppard, who was curled up into the fetal position on a gurney. Kate had turned up as well, presumably towed along by Carson. Ronon was off to one side, wearing an expression that said whatever had happened, it had officially made him believe in the existence of hell.

It was no use even approaching the medical team, so he headed straight for Ronon.

"What happened?"

Ronon gave him the short, truncated explanation. As per usual. "A portal opened up. Those beings tried to take Colonel Sheppard again. When we got back to the village I called for help. Caldwell said it was faster to beam us over to the Daedalus."

Yet somehow, Colonel Sheppard was still here. Rodney prodded Ronon for more information. "Okay, so they tried. And?"

"And, I held them off. I think they intended to come through, stun anyone in their way. I fired my blaster into the portal. I think I hit one of them. I don't think they were too pleased."

"I bet they weren't," said Rodney. He was happy that Ronon had been around for the big save, but he was almost certain that their new friends weren't going to take 'no' for an answer. Also hitting, and possibly killing one of the beings would make them even more unhappy.

He tapped the comms button. "Colonel Caldwell, start spanning for any subspace anomalies. Especially ones that appear to be forming inside the Daedalus."

The response was immediate. "Did you say _inside_ the Daedalus?"

"Inside, outside or in the general vicinity. I'll fill you in later. Just do me a favor and do as I ask."

There was a moment of silence. Caldwell had seen Rodney in action enough times to know that when Rodney asked for something, it was usually for a good cause. "Okay. We're scanning."

"Good. Keep me posted. Remember, as soon as you see anything, no matter how small, tell me."

His brain began galloping around at full speed, weighing up the options and it was a nanosecond before he realized that it wasn't a case of just sitting around waiting for a subspace fracture to open. They needed to take a drastic course of action. Not only was Sheppard in danger but they were parked on the landing bay outside of Atlantis. Presumably any aliens that came through the portal might decide to hang around and take a tour through Atlantis. His brain started pasting it all together. He should have figured that out before. Shit. The aliens had the same problems with their micro fracture that Rodney and Hermiod had with micro focusing their beam. They had an approximate position. Not an exact one. To find Sheppard they had to move the portal around. It was just as likely to appear in the city as in the ship.

He commed through to Caldwell again. "No time to explain Colonel but you really need to get the Daedalus out of here."

There was further silence before Caldwell talked. "Any particular reason, Dr. McKay?"

"Look, just trust me on this." He hit the radio and terminated the connection, not bothering to wait for an acknowledgement from Caldwell. Instead, he switched and got Elizabeth.

"Elizabeth, it's Rodney. We're getting the Daedalus out of here. I'll let you know more when we're out of range."

"You're sure about this?" Elizabeth's tone of voice said she wanted a better explanation, but hey, when the going gets tough, the tough take off and get to safer ground.

"Yeah. Give us an hour, and I'll call you straight back."

"How's Colonel Sheppard?" From the sounds of her voice, she didn't even know if he was alive or dead.

Rodney took a glance over at the melee of doctor and nurses, the sounds of clothing hitting the floor, people setting up IVs, the cardiac monitor, and taking blood pressure.

"I don't know, Elizabeth. But he's alive."

"Okay. Dr. Weir out."

Rodney heard the Daedalus' engines cycling up for lift off, the rumble buzzing up through his feet as they started to apply thrust. He relaxed by a small percentage. If they were moving around, they might stand a chance.

He stood for a minute, watching the action. Sheppard was naked, covered by a sheet, Beckett and Jacobson checking every inch of him. Kate was standing out of the way, concerned.

He wanted to stay around but there was no point, not right now. He didn't know what was wrong with Sheppard and considering all the guy had been through, maybe he never wanted to because it just got worse. Every time they tried to help it got worse. Sheppard was pitiable in his current state and that unnerved Rodney because he'd never thought of Sheppard as weak.

Maybe they should just quit trying to help him because they were just torturing him all over again. Shit. He couldn't think like that. There was a way to help him. If they could just get it to work.

Rodney turned on his heels and hurried back to the labs and Hermiod.

((--))

Carson was starting to consider whether he should start some sort of frequent flier club for Sheppard. The man had been dragged in front of Carson in a variety of sorry states over the past three years. If he saw a patient more than twice in the A&E back home, he would have been concerned and started calling in a psychologist. Sheppard was on a disturbing permanent rotation and that should have seen him bounced to Kate sooner rather than later.

They'd stripped him, struggled to get him to uncurl, got an IV started – this time they did blow a vein and searched around for another on the side of the hand - started checking over the vitals. Breathing okay, heart rate fine. Pupils equal and reactive. They'd drawn blood, got a rush on the results. No sign of injury except for the bleeding nose and that had stopped spontaneously. Just a man lying on the gurney, eyes open, staring at nothing in particular and seemingly unresponsive.

He bent down closer to Sheppard, held a hand in front of his face. "Colonel? Colonel Sheppard? Can you hear me?"

Nothing, no response at all. The limbs were limp. He lifted one, carefully tried bending it, felt a huge amount of resistance. Same for the other limbs. He tried for another verbal response. "Colonel? John? It's Dr. Beckett. Can you tell me how you're feeling?"

Nothing. A dozen neurological diagnoses went through Beckett's mind. Most, such as alcohol psychosis, autism, and schizophrenia he could immediately dismiss. In fact the diagnoses for Sheppard were relatively small but first he had to eliminate the obvious possibility of head trauma and some type of infection. He turned to Jacobson.

"Ted, let's get an MRI of the head and then an LP, check the spinal fluid."

"Got it." Jacobson didn't wait around. They took the brakes off the gurney, got Sheppard wheeled into the next room where they kept the majority of their screening equipment. The Daedalus was a big ship, on long missions and they'd been equipped with some expensive, but essential diagnostic machines. Thankfully, it was mostly human, mixed with Asgard technology. No A.T.A gene required.

He watched his most problematic patient get wheeled out of the room, turned back towards Kate – wearing a pensive expression on her face.

"Kate, you look like you've made a diagnosis."

"Disassociation at the least, probably brought on by acute stress disorder, and presumably by that damn device. Could be catatonia."

"Aye. If the blood work, MRI and LP come back clean, I'm going to have to concur."

"Lorezepam is the first line of treatment."

He didn't bother to reply because she was right, and there was nothing more to be done until they got to that point. Kate was contemplative.

"Carson, if we can't get him out of this…"

"We will. _He_ will. The man's got more life than the Energizer bunny. Besides, if it's not due to the device, it's not unknown for people to recover spontaneously. Up to forty percent. He's got a few hours before he comes back from the MRI and the LP. Let's wait and see which way he goes."

"Carson, every one has their breaking points. I think he just reached his." She would have bitten her bottom lip but she winced at the action.

Carson put a conciliatory arm around her shoulders because everyone had their breaking points, even endlessly supportive psychologists. "Let me look at your bottom lip for you. Make sure it's healing."

"Carl's been checking it for me."

"And I'm sure Carl has been doing a bang-up job but why not make me happy and let me take a look?"

She gave him a small smile. "Carson, you're a sweetheart."

"So people keep telling me."

((--))

When he needed to, which was when Atlantis or someone he knew was in serious trouble, Rodney McKay had the ability to focus on one task for an abnormal length of time. Days. Weeks. Whatever it took. When it came down to it, he'd live on coffee and power bars, no sleep and medically prescribed amphetamines. Afterwards he'd sleep for days, eat everything not nailed down, and complain loudly and endlessly to anyone who'd listen that he wasn't appreciated.

Today was a coffee, power bar and no sleep emergency. He initiated the beam again, checked the statistics for the previous twenty something plus attempts, made the adjustments, microns and nanometers of adjustments and tried again. He'd added an additional twist here and there. He'd attached four small metal screws to the dummy's face on either side of the sinus to act as markers. The only problem was that attaching the markers translated into having to stick the screws into the actual casting of the skull.

He was expecting the usual result. Bits of Sheppard dummy all over the beaming platform. Instead there was only one item. The homing beacon replica.

"Yes!" He scooped it off the platform, showed it to Hermiod. The Asgard actually managed to appear pleased.

"We should repeat this a second time to ensure that we have the correct measurements."

"Makes sense," agreed Rodney. "Okay, let me just put this back into our friend here and we can have another go."

"You should shift its position so that we can be assured we can compensate."

Again, Hermiod was making sense. There were other considerations they hadn't even tried to tackle yet. Like what if the beacon had moved? What if it wasn't the shape they had sculpted for the test? They would have to keep Sheppard's head rock still. Had they counted on that? Had they counted what it was like to have to perform the same procedure on a breathing human being?

"Dr. McKay, are you ready?"

Rodney shook himself from his morbid contemplation and picked up the replica beacon, crossed to the dummy, dismantled it by removing the marker screws, peeling off the silicon cover mimicking the thickness of skin, loosening the screws they'd arranged on one side of the reproduction of Sheppard's skull and then he was into the side where they had created an opening in the fake sinus.

His brain kept conjuring up inappropriate analogies when he did this job. Kept thinking he was hiding the egg for some bizarre Easter egg hunt.

He finished, put the Sheppard dummy back together again, and joined Hermiod. They repeated the procedure, and were again rewarded with a beacon and nothing else.

"I think we have a successful outcome, Dr McKay."

"Yeah. Let's just be sure. Really, really sure. How about we go for ten?"

Hermiod didn't say anything but set the beam up again. Ten seemed like the magical number to Rodney. Get the beacon out ten times in a row and he might be able to tell himself that he and Hermiod were confident enough to try their procedure out on an actual living person. After that they just had to get Carson to agree to attach the guide screws to Sheppard.

Just a normal day in the Pegasus galaxy.

((--))

Carson had checked Kate's lip, found that it had nearly healed. They sat in the infirmary office, they drank coffee, they tried to avoid acting like nervous wrecks. Nothing to do but wait.

Eventually, Jacobson came back with the gurney and a couple of nurses. Sheppard was sitting up, looking around, somewhere along the way they'd managed to get him into a gown. Kate and Carson both dashed out of the office.

"He started coming back after we did the lumbar puncture. Still seems disoriented, but he's responsive."

"Thanks, Theodore," said Carson.

"I'll go and check on the lab results for you, if you like, or do you want me to stick around?"

Carson stole a glance at Sheppard, noted his befuddled expression, figured the fewer people they had hanging around, the less Sheppard would feel something was wrong. "Thanks Theodore, but I think we've got it from here."

"Sure," replied Jacobson easily. He beckoned to the two nurses. "Come on gang, it's time for some bad coffee on me."

Carson stepped up to the gurney but figured this was Kate's territory. He was just sticking around for backup, making sure Sheppard didn't keel over, or need sedating, or whatever hell else little medical problem was going to occur because just when he thought he might be able to relax, Sheppard would come back like a boomerang and screw up his case resolution stats.

Kate put a smile on her face, appeared calm and straightforward. Sheppard smiled back at her, then frowned.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," said Kate. "Know where you are?"

Sheppard gave the room a rapid once over. "Um, infirmary. I think. Looks different."

"Actually, you're right. It's the sickbay on the Daedalus."

The expression shifted back to perplexed. "Oh. Huh. Don't remember how I got here. Tell me I was knocked out, because fainting is not cool."

Kate laughed softly. "No. You didn't faint."

"Good. I think." He gazed down at his hands for a good while, seemingly trying to process his thoughts and not having much luck. Kate didn't say anything, just waited.

He held his hands out to Kate. "My hands are dirty."

They were. Still coated in mud, dirt embedded under the fingernails, grass stains. In the rush to get the diagnostics done, they'd collectively forgotten to clean him up. Carson had done a quick check to make sure there were nothing serious that needed work and sent him on his way.

Kate took a chance, tenderly took one hand, but Sheppard recoiled, pulled away and it wasn't fast. His reflexes seemed slow.

"Sorry. Feels weird. Hurts," said Sheppard, apologizing. Then he smiled shyly in a way that Carson had seen before in numerous children when he tried to reassure them during a medical procedure. They really wanted to trust him, but they also knew doctors tended to understate the truth so the best they could do was manage a small half smile. Hey, no hard feelings and you seem like a nice guy, but if you stick me with a needle I'm going to scream so hard your eardrums will burst.

"Carson will have something around for you to use. Got anything?"

"Aye, we've got your favorite around as always. Wipes. Should get most of the dirt off." He bustled over to a supply cabinet, took his lead from Kate and made it seem normal.

Sheppard directed his next question at both of them. "How did I get here again?"

"How much do you remember?" Kate pulled up a stool, slid herself over to the side of the bed. Carson came back with the wipes, handed them over to Sheppard, who started cleaning his hands. He was methodical about it, and sluggish, but at least the action was a diversion and seemed to give him time to think.

"I dunno. I was with Ronon, checking Halling's traps for him. Ronon… Um, Ronon got upset about something. I'm not sure what." He didn't look up at Kate but concentrated on cleaning his hands. "You'd think I'd remember."

"That's okay. We can talk about it later, it's nothing to be concerned about."

But Sheppard did seem to be getting concerned. His brain seemed to be putting two and two together and coming up with scary scenario number five. Carson watched him stop cleaning, move around in the bed to get comfortable and it reminded Carson that there were dressings to change, and he really needed to go and find some foam to buffer Sheppard's pressure points. Besides, after an LP, his back would be even more uncomfortable.

"Shit. It didn't happen again did it? They were there with us. It was them, wasn't it?" The voice started notching up in volume and pitch. "Tell me!"

"Sheppard, you weren't taken again. It's okay." Kate used the same even tone but it didn't have much of an effect.

"No. Oh God, they're going to come back. They're going to come back, they're looking, I know they're looking. Won't stop, they won't stop. They're never going to stop and they'll just keep hurting me and they'll keep doing it and there's _going to be nothing left_…"

And in an instant they were moving from relative calm to agitation and Sheppard was hauling himself out of the bed, muttering about not going back, and Kate was trying to get him into bed, but she touched his arm. She swiftly stepped back just in case his instincts to lash out kicked in. Carson tried instead for a full body block, stepping between the pilot and sickbay exit hoping he didn't get punched for his efforts. The only positive side to Sheppard's abrupt desire to get out of bed was that he wasn't out of control. Edging towards out and out panic, but not totally out of control - yet. He could still be reasoned with, but his speech had disintegrated into an incoherent rambling.

"Son, Kate wouldn't lie to you. You didn't get taken. Ronon saw to that. We're not going to let them anywhere near you. Rodney and Hermiod are working on a cure as we speak."

Sheppard stood in front of him, seemingly unsure of what he should do next. "You don't get it, it's all the same, it's all going to turn out the same. Like before. Everyone's dead, they're always dead, or they leave and they go away and I just have to keep going. I don't understand why. Aren't I supposed to dead too? I thought I'd be dead too."

Carson didn't know what the conversation was about but his gut instinct said it wasn't entirely about Sheppard's traumatic experience with the aliens. He modulated his own voice, kept it low, took his cue from Kate.

"You're not supposed to be dead. You're supposed to be with us."

Sheppard clenched his fists, tight, considered Carson, stared him straight in the eye. Carson returned the stare, not flinching, trying to convey that whatever else, Carson Beckett never lied. Understated the gravity of the situation. Maybe a bit. But an outright lie? Never.

"Why?" Sheppard had asked a question and Carson wasn't entirely sure what the question was about.

"I'm not quite sure what you mean, lad."

"Why am I supposed to be here? It hasn't made much difference. I woke up the Wraith, I swapped rosters with Mitch and Dex. People keep getting hurt when I'm around."

Carson spared a glance at Kate, who wore a look that said Sheppard had probably just assumed a permanent place on her client roster. She was concerned but hadn't taken over, and Carson presumed he was doing fine so far, or more to the point, he was the one in the way and he hadn't been knocked on his arse.

"Many, many people have been saved because of your bravery and dedication, Colonel. No matter what you may think, there's plenty of people around who are pleased you're here with us."

Sheppard didn't seem any happier with the answer, but he had calmed down enough that Carson could see his respiration rate was lowering. He'd stop rambling, was sort of holding his end of the conversation.

"Why don't you get back into bed, and maybe Rodney could come down later and explain what's going on."

As if on cue, the sickbay doors opened and Rodney entered, at full speed, in typically McKay fashion. Enough bluster and energy to power a couple of light bulbs all by himself.

"Hey, Carson!"

Sheppard jumped, looked like he was about to bolt. Carson wasn't too thrilled either, but remained where he was, moving in lock step with Sheppard as the man made a move to the side and presumably towards the door.

"Get out, Rodney. _Right now_." Carson let his temper get to him, and his stressed tone of voice immediately ramped up Sheppard. The last thing Beckett wanted was to have to start sedating Sheppard, but it seemed they were about two seconds away from Sheppard attempting an escape.

Rodney never was one to take a hint, or even a blatantly obvious command.

"Don't yell at me. I'm the genius who's going to save Sheppard's butt." Rodney came to stand beside Carson. "What's he doing out of bed anyway?"

"Rodney, for once in your life could you do as I ask?"

"I came to tell you that Hermiod and I have the beaming technology working, so good-bye homing device." Rodney sized Sheppard up. "How come your standing around in that gown? You look even worse than you did with the flip flops."

Carson was beginning to think the better way to resolve the situation was to sedate Rodney but that was before he saw a tiny indication that Sheppard was relaxing. Rodney, of all people, seemed to be calming him down. The only thing Carson could think of was that Rodney was Sheppard's barometer for normality, of all things. If the situation was bad, Rodney was a hysterical mess. If the situation wasn't bad, or actually okay, he was just oblivious to everything but his latest research.

Rodney was being Rodney.

Carson backed out of the way, because Rodney had somehow managed to end up standing in front of Sheppard anyway. Kate had managed to casually work her way around to join Carson at his side, and by her silence, he figured she was on the same wavelength.

Sheppard was staring at Rodney as if he'd grown another head, but he didn't seem inclined to go anywhere and he'd managed to unclench his fists. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but it was a long time in coming.

"Okay, I don't know what's up with the whole fish imitation, but if you're going to ask if we can make everything all better, you bet. I just came down to ask Carson to help us out."

Sheppard closed his mouth and tried again. "Can we do this soon? My head hurts."

Rodney didn't seem to find the response strange, in fact he wasn't really listening because he was wearing the familiar expression that said he was too busy mentally running the procedures to remove the device in Sheppard's head to be bothered. "Right, yes, completely. As soon as Carson clears it. We've got one problem in that you've got to remain still, and I mean still, can't move even a fraction, can't even twitch. That's what I came to ask Carson about."

Carson stood in awe. Rodney McKay was like a bulldozer. A verbal, socially inept bulldozer who was probably about one standard deviation on the bell curve away from Asberger's Syndrome, but bless him, right about now he was a miracle worker.

Rodney shifted gears, seemed to find the whole concept of Sheppard in a hospital gown slightly offensive. Carson heard Kate stifle a gasp as Rodney, hopelessly forgetful about people's personal space, put a hand on Sheppard's arm and then didn't even blink when Sheppard jerked his arm away.

"Oh, right, sorry. Forgot about that whole don't touch concept. Anyway, you should get back into bed because that gown is leaving nothing to the imagination and by the way, did anyone tell you that you should maybe invest in a visit to a podiatrist or a manicurist or something because seriously, your feet… Presumably this is what happens when people run all the time. What's up with your toenails and how come I didn't notice when you were wearing those stupid plastic sandals?"

Sheppard followed Rodney's line of sight to his bare feet. He waggled his toes. Carson got a view of a long line of minor foot problems that came as standard for nearly every person who put in a lot of miles. One black toenail in the process of working itself loose, some thickened nails, and one that appeared to have a fungus infection. With all of Sheppard's other problems, Carson didn't even consider them worth counting.

"It comes with the territory," said Sheppard.

"Then it's a complete lie that running keeps people healthy. Get into bed so I don't have to look at them any more."

Sheppard did as he was told. Carson made sure Sheppard was tucked up okay and once that little chore was finished all three of them – Carson, Kate and Sheppard – turned to gape at Rodney.

"What!" Rodney put his hands on his hips, scowled and pointed at Carson. "Time to pay attention, Carson. We've got a sinus condition to clear."

((--))

Ronon had processed his encounter with the subspace facture in the way he usually did. He got over it. That's where Sheppard and he were on the same wave length. They both understood that the luxuries of self pity weren't conducive to winning a fight. Afterwards, maybe, just maybe, he let himself process the experience in the form of running or practicing some martial arts of some type. Then he would eat, drink too much alcohol, sleep as best he could and get on with his life.

Denial had managed to get him through his life as a Runner and it was going to get him over the view down the subspace barrel of the Asgard related aliens.

Ronon found Hermiod to be about as threatening as a piece of toast but the aliens down the end of the portal - they were different. Ronon was a big believer in the fact that evil emanated its own unique scent. Something about it, he swore he could sense it, but it was always a hint of death, the smell of a Wraith. The Wraith's body odor reflected what they ate. They ate humans. They consumed their lives. Wraith smelled like blood.

He got the same whiff when he'd taken out one of the aliens with his blaster. The blaster that he'd set to lethal once he'd managed to get a bead on his foe and Sheppard's continued tormentors.

He'd insisted that he was present when they tried to beam the homing device out of Sheppard. They needed someone who could hold his own in a fight and he had a feeling an entire squad of marines wouldn't begin to cut it. If that portal opened up again, Ronon was going to defend Sheppard and everyone else in the vicinity with everything he had.

((--))

Sheppard had the feeling that somewhere along the way he'd lost his marbles. Well, maybe not all of them. Just one or two. He'd been running around, not paying attention and they'd dropped out. Presumably some other kid had them by now.

Carson and Kate had talked over the procedure with Rodney and he'd been there too, trying to listen but discovering he had the attention span of a gnat. A gnat with ADHD. He'd given up following the conversation because whenever he asked a question, everyone gave him a patronizing smile and Carson or Kate would offer him a reassurance that made him begin to suspect that what he was actually saying and what he thought he was saying weren't the same thing.

Rodney eventually left to get everything setup with Hermiod. He'd moved on from worrying about getting an entire homing device beamed out of his head, or the gray gnomes, to wondering why he thought he heard the call of an Adelie penguin. He glanced around to Carson and Kate and they hadn't reacted, and if there really was a penguin here, then they would have definitely heard it because penguins weren't exactly quiet. Thankfully it only lasted a couple of seconds and it was gone.

Yeah, he was crazy. Really, really crazy. Although not crazy enough to mention the penguin. Or the fact that he heard another distinct voice. One that sounded a lot like his father and that was as menacing as the gray gnomes.

"You always do this. You're drop the ball every time. You embarrass me. What kind of son are you?"

He refused to answer.

((--))

Carson had done the prep work with the guide screws in sickbay. He'd raided the surgical supplies for a set of orthopedic screws with a small diameter because Rodney and Hermiod had been using whatever they could scrounge up in the lab. Hardly suitable. Then they'd just had to attach them and that involved getting them screwed into the bone.

They'd numbed Sheppard's face up with a local, given him a light sedative and Carson as always, was amazed by Sheppard's ability to try and take the whole procedure as stoically as possible. Despite all that had happened, despite the fact that he hated being touched, that he was in pain, that he wasn't even making sense in places, he'd tried his best to cooperate. Attaching the screws wasn't very comfortable but with Sheppard conscious, it did mean that the process could be completed as fast as possible. With Jacobson assisting they'd attached the four micro pins easily, literally threading them through the skin and into the bone.

It looked gruesome. Carson reminded himself to load Sheppard up with some codeine after the whole thing was over.

Carson wheeled the gurney towards the lab, Kate assisting. Sheppard was still under light sedation, relaxed and aware. They'd had a debate about putting him under general anesthesia but the fact was if something went wrong, like misdirecting the beam into the brain, Carson wanted to know straight away. Rodney and Hermiod would focus the beam first, placing it into position before beginning the beam out process and when the beam was focused, Carson would ask Sheppard some questions to determine if any brain cells were in the way.

That just left one difficulty; how was Sheppard going to react to the fact that they were going to have to completely immobilize him? Or to seeing Hermiod?

"How are you doing, Colonel?" It was Kate. Carson snapped back to awareness.

Sheppard held up a hand, gave them a thumbs up. "Peachy. I like drugs, drugs are gooooood."

"Spoken like the poster child for abstinence," said Carson as a joke. He got a sloppy grin as a reward.

"You know, after all of this, I'm going to hate to go back to that whole drug free thing."

"You'll do just fine, and I doubt you're going to want to repeat the experience for a while," said Carson, trying to implant the idea that about all that happened was a temporary dulling in pain. Stop taking them and the physical and mental pain came back anyway.

"Spoil sport," mumbled Sheppard.

They arrived outside the lab, and parked the gurney. Carson entered the laboratory to check on progress. Hermiod was needed to help Rodney with the calibrations but they'd decided that the best way to handle Hermiod's presence was to keep him hidden behind some lab equipment, wheel Sheppard in, park the gurney and then immobilize him. If he couldn't turn his head, he wouldn't catch sight of Hermiod.

Ronon was standing in the lab, his hand resting on the grip of his blaster. Lorne, and a couple of volunteer marines stood off to one side, out of the way, but alert.

"Are we ready gentlemen?"

Nods from everyone, but no words. It seemed pointless to speak. It was either going to work or not and if it didn't it was either going to seriously disfigure Sheppard, kill him, and/or the aliens would show up as an added bonus.

Hermiod moved away from the controls and went to stand off to one side. Carson ducked back outside into the corridor, and they wheeled the gurney into the lab, swung it into position, lowering it to the exact height of the table that the manikin had been lying on. Then they let down the back so that Sheppard was lying flat. Carson found the easiest way to work from then on was to crouch rather than trying to bend over.

"John, remember what we talked about before? We need to keep you still."

Sheppard nodded, seemed apprehensive, despite the drugs.

"Kate's here and we're both going to talk you through the entire thing, so don't worry. No one's leaving you." Carson picked up a restraint, looped it over Sheppard's chest, pulled into the buckle but left it loose. He'd tighten the straps up when they were all in place. As efficiently as he could, he executed the rest of the classic five point restraint. Legs and arms in addition to the chest, keeping it all loose and in danger of slipping off. He was also aware that every time he touched Sheppard, Sheppard was having a reaction despite the sedation.

"You're doing very well," he said.

The next step was difficult. The one thing they didn't actually have on board was a stereotactic head frame. Head frames ensured that the head was locked into position for any type of radiotherapy technique on a patient's brain, or if a patient had a severe spinal injury. Any crew member that needed that level of treatment would have it back at SGC, not on some space ship flying backwards and forwards between two galaxies.

Instead, they'd opted for using a neck brace, then strapping down the head, padding between the strap and the neck brace as much as possible. Wouldn't be ideal but would hopefully be rigid enough to prevent Sheppard from moving around. He got the neck brace positioned and then between himself and Kate worked as quickly as possible to get the restraints tightened.

He tried to gauge Sheppard's reactions but Sheppard seemed to be concentrating hard on pretending he wasn't scared to death. "You still with us ?"

Sheppard twitched a thumb as a response. Carson called over his shoulder to Rodney.

"Okay, as fast as you possibly can."

Rodney didn't bother to reply, just began working, pushing buttons, checking readouts. The lab was filled with the hum of the beam powering up.

"Dr. McKay, this is Caldwell."

Rodney rolled his eyes, slapped the comm button on his radio. "Little busy at the moment, Colonel. What's up?"

"Our science officer just detected the start of a subspace micro fracture forming."

"Crap. Where?"

"In your lab. What do you want us to do?"

McKay slapped the side of the console. "Crap, crap, CRAP!"

"McKay, you used to be such a polite scientist. What's up with all the bad language?" Sheppard was trying to turn his head towards McKay and mercifully, he was failing.

Rodney checked over his own readings, Hermiod joined him. "Okay, okay, let's think here. Okay, what's the growth rate here, let me see…" Rodney checked on a console, Hermiod pointed at a figure, made an adjustment. "Yeah, it's slow. I think the shields on the Daedalus are slowing it down. Right, we've got about ten minutes until that thing gets its game on. It's enough time to get the homing beacon out."

"Rodney, I don't think so! You're risking Colonel Sheppard's life here. You're risking all of our lives," said Carson.

"You think I don't know that? Here's the alternative. This thing kicks into existence and the aliens, at long last, have their targeting coordinates. They know how to position inside the ship and whether you like it or not they take Sheppard. I'd prefer to have a shot at making their chances zero."

"Guys? What are you talking about?" Sheppard sounded anxious. Carson checked around in his medical bag, thought the best thing to do was administer another sedative and at least put him under. He'd have to be monitor closely for a depressed respiratory drive, but anything was better than letting Sheppard panic.

"No time, Carson! Just keep an eye on him!"

The beam appeared out of a hub in the ceiling and a thin blue stream of light hit Sheppard square on the right side of his face, in the middle of the four guide screws.

Carson watched the blue beam of light and then spotted another spark of light out of the corner of his eye. He turned and managed to get his first glimpse at what a subspace micro fracture really looked like.

((--))

Ronon had drawn his blaster as soon as he'd seem the first glimmer of light forming in a corner by the door. From his one experience down on the planet he knew that once it started growing it would speed up exponentially. Lorne and his men followed suit. He didn't bother to acknowledge them, but he did give them instructions.

"When the mouth of that thing gets large enough, they'll start trying to move into our space. Just start blasting and try not to hit anything in the lab."

He heard an indignant yell from Rodney. "Yeah, that's good. Try not to hit anyone, especially me."

Carson shouted at Rodney. "Now's not the time. Have you got that damned thing focused?"

"Yes. It's good. Check with Sheppard and we're good to go."

Ronon watched as Carson bent down to check Sheppard while ensuring that he kept his head away from the beam.

"John, can you hear me?"

"Yeah."

"Keep as still as you can. It's going to be over in about two seconds. Have you got any blurring of vision, a headache, anything at all?"

"No. Just feel tingling where the beam is hitting me."

"That'll do me, Colonel." Carson got himself out of the way as fast as possible, and sometimes Ronon found himself amazed at how nimble Carson could be when he wanted. "Go, Rodney!"

Rodney activated the beam, Hermiod worked with him, and over in the corner, the portal started getting very, very big. So much for the Daedalus' shields slowing it down.

Ronon aimed, made sure he targeted over everyone's heads, and then moved up closer, putting himself between the portal and the medical team. Lorne gently moved Heightmeyer out of the way, pulled Carson back behind them.

Carson heard a triumphant yell from Rodney, a scream of, "We got it! We've got it!"

And then all hell broke lose.

((--))


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

The aliens at the end of the portal weren't wasting any time. Carson muscled his way past Ronon and made a dive for Sheppard, started undoing the restraint straps as fast as he could. A marine was in front of Kate, trying to do as he'd been trained – protecting civilians – but this particular civilian ignored him and joined Carson.

Rodney in the interim, observing the mayhem, thought it would be a good idea to get rid of the thorn in their sides. Namely, the homing device. He hustled over to the platform, along with Hermiod.

It was lying there, covered in mucus and blood, micro thin tendrils snapping around like the arms of an enraged octopus. The fact that it even _had_ tendrils made Rodney want to barf. Worse, it seemed like it was missing some legs. Presumably they were still in Sheppard's head somewhere.

Hermiod observed the writhing mass of what appeared to be a cybernetic organism. "We should keep it for further study."

Normally Rodney would have agreed. In fact, he probably would have been the first to suggest it. But right now, with a subspace portal opening up in his lab, everyone getting a bird's eye view of doom, and Sheppard facing another abduction, Rodney decided on a more immediate solution.

"Get me a hammer."

((--))

Ronon watched as the portal widened, braced himself, aimed the blaster. He could count maybe five figures, blurry and unfocused, standing on the other side of the portal. Five didn't seem many, in fact it seemed a pathetic amount. Assessing the situation initially he thought they either simply didn't have the numbers or it was hubris. Technically superior race gets smug, presumes its invincible.

He'd have to see which way the fight went.

The portal itself wasn't much bigger than three feet, but the aliens weren't exactly big in stature. So they'd be coming through a whole lot sooner, rather than later.

He could hear Caldwell's voice over his radio, broadcasting to all frequencies, trying to assess whether the lab was compromised or not. Ronon ignored him and decided that he'd continue to do so unless there was imminent danger of Caldwell deciding to vent the air.

The portal was wide enough for the aliens to start to move into the lab. Ronon fired off a shot, expecting the first alien to drop, but the stick figure from hell just remained upright.

One of the key traits of an intelligent being was adaptability and it seemed that the aliens had adapted to Ronon's attempt at killing them by changing their tactic. It was less about disabling Sheppard and more about disabling everyone around him. Bigger weapons, maybe some sort of personal body armor. That pissed Ronon off because he didn't think they were playing fair. But when had aliens that used evil as their main reason for getting up in the mornings, ever played fair?

He readjusted his aim, trying to get an angle on the head. The basic principle of shooting someone was this; aim for the torso. It's the biggest, most stable target on the body. If you could get off a head shot, excellent – the target was more likely to drop where it stood. But the torso was generally the way to go, unless of course they were wearing body armor and the head was a much bigger target. For the gray guys, it was definitely the head.

The first alien out swung around, seemingly unfazed by the sheer size of Ronon, the alien's movements a blur. A little tricky to get a bead on them with all their hyperactivity but Ronon began to think the task was going to be easier than he'd calculated, considering their callous disregard for their own safety. At about the same time he was trying to squeeze off a shot, another alien, one that Ronon hadn't been paying attention to, came in for the kill. Ronon instinctively threw himself to the side as he saw the altered movement and the flash of a weapon but it wasn't enough. He smelt burning flesh, vaguely thought of barbecue, then the pain hit and he realized _he_ was the barbecue.

He crashed down to the floor, hitting heavy, his blaster still in his hand. If he was capable of moving he would have swung around and tried again, but the pain, and some sort of creeping paralysis were working on him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a streak of gray and he heard the weird skittering sound, close to him, and he understood why Sheppard was freaked out by them. He was freaked out himself. But at least he wasn't dead. The Grays seemed sloppy that way, or maybe just arrogant, or delusional. In war, a man went down, in some cases you made sure they stayed down. Ronon had fought enough tough battles to know the so called 'rules' were frequently broken. Seemed the Grays no longer considered him a threat and that was all they cared about.

He heard the firing of P90s, loud, and the burst of fire was abruptly cut short and he figured the marines had met a similar fate. They were maybe alive, maybe dead, the intensity of the charred odor pointing towards dead.

Ronon made one last attempt to get up. He put all of his remaining strength and muscle into it, thought for a moment he might just make it even though he was sweating and felt sick to his stomach. Seemed five of them were quite enough after all.

That was the last thing he saw.

((--))

Rodney was standing back by the platform, having just grabbed the hammer off Hermiod, most of his attention focused on the fracas taking place about three meters away. The volunteer marines, the ones that seemed reasonably pleasant and very young, were now so much charcoal, desiccated flesh and exposed bone. What was the term Sheppard used? Oh yeah, crispy critters. The poor bastards were crispy critters.

Ronon was on the floor, unconscious, his side still smoking, and Rodney had no idea how bad the injury was, or how the hell Carson was going to fix it. Lorne was unconscious too, but appeared, thankfully, to be undamaged.

That just left Carson, Sheppard and Kate. Carson and Kate had managed to free Sheppard, pull him out of the way and they were standing protectively in front of him as the Grays advanced. Of course, another name for 'protectively' could have been 'foolhardy'.

Hermiod interrupted Rodney's observation of events to date.

"Dr. McKay, I think now would be an excellent time for you to put your plan into effect. I am going to attempt to aid the others."

"What the hell are you going to do? They'll snap you in two like a pretzel."

"I am not sure, but I will do something."

Hermiod moved down from his position from behind the lab controls. Rodney turned and went to try and get at least one thing right in the whole mess. He crouched down and took to the homing device with the hammer.

To Rodney's intense satisfaction, the device was promptly flattened, spraying out a combination of its internal circuitry, fluid, and what looked like organic components all over the platform. The creature made one last slashing movement with its tendrils before giving up and dying.

He'd never quite understood why they had hammers on the Daedalus and he'd always supposed it was for the maintenance crews. When they couldn't fix the plumbing or whatever, they presumably just hit the problem with a hammer. He used to think including a hammer and screwdrivers (flat head and Philips), wire cutters and a dozen very mundane and ordinary tools on a ship built by the Asgard was stupid.

Admiring his handiwork he decided that he'd changed his mind. He really, really liked and admired hammers. They were brilliant. There should be more of them.

The much admired hammer was being wrenched out of his grasp. He stood upright, whirled to fight off one of the Grays and found himself confronted by John Sheppard. Rodney thought the best way to sum up Sheppard at this particular point in time was super sized insanity. Hospital gown, messy hair, bare feet, orthopedic screws on his face, and a psychotic killer expression.

"They said I'm supposed to be good but I think I'm going to be bad," said Sheppard.

Then he strode down the steps, clutching the hammer and it occurred to Rodney that in all of the excitement he'd forgotten to call for reinforcements.

Watching as the aliens started getting unnaturally interested in Carson, Hermiod standing opposite a Gray screeching like a tom cat, and Sheppard about to wreck vengeance, he guessed that right about now would be an excellent time.

((--))

Carson freely admitted to himself and to others that he wasn't a tough guy. He still missed his Mum, and tended to cry more easily than others, except of course when there was a medical emergency. Something to do with all the empathy stuff he was supposed to be good at.

Right about now he thought crying wouldn't cut it. Screaming might. Because the sinister aliens, who really shouldn't have been all that menacing considering their size, seemed to have divided their interest between Sheppard and himself.

He and Kate had stepped in front of Sheppard to protect him, by instinct, and two of the aliens had stopped and sniffed the air like dogs on the trail of a scent. One of them had smiled at Carson, with a mouth full of teeth seen in two-year olds, narrowed his eyes and pointed in his direction.

"Crap. I've got the bloody A.T.A gene," said Carson, more to himself than the others. Those hair-raising little buggers were going to go for a two for one deal.

He barely had time to get out the sentence when the same two aliens lunged at him, blurring their movement so they were like a bad CGI effect in a cheap SF movie, grabbed his legs and simply hauled him backwards. The movement completely caught him off guard, and he crashed to the ground, landing on his back.

He was even more surprised when they started dragging him towards the portal. Little gray aliens that sort of bore a resemblance to Hermiod should not be able to drag a human male across the floor as if they were kids dragging a puppy by its leash.

Kate was torn between who needed her help more. Sheppard was seemingly paralyzed by indecision and the sedation. Carson was doing his best to get himself free but there was nothing to grab onto. Kate made a decision, ran for Carson, grabbed an arm and tried pulling him back.

He'd turned into a giant wishbone. As long as they didn't snap him in half, he'd be happy.

"Hermiod, grab the other arm!" It was Kate again, trying to get some help. Hermiod hurriedly joined in and Carson wasn't sure if two Grays versus an Asgard and a petite psychologist was an even match, but his would be rescuers were doing their best to slow the process down.

Of course, that didn't take care of the other aliens running around in the lab, making a beeline for Sheppard.

Who'd promptly taken off running towards McKay.

The aliens hung back, seemingly amused. Maybe they just enjoyed watching the struggles of their prey like a cat enjoyed toying with a mouse before they ate it.

Sheppard grabbed the hammer from McKay.

More dragging, he lurched forward.

The portal was getting awfully close.

((--))

Sheppard wasn't entirely sure what was happening. He was tired, but the adrenalin seemed to have kicked in or maybe it was just the sedation wearing off. Nothing was making much sense except that he was hyper focused on the only thing that mattered. The survival of the people in the lab.

He wasn't particularly concerned about his own safety any more. Not when he was watching Carson being hauled towards the portal and Grays heading his way and behind him, a frantic Rodney requesting as many armed personnel as Caldwell could spare, right damn now.

He'd had enough. Insistent voices in his head were telling him what to do. His father was telling him to sit down. Sit down and shut up. If he was good, Sheppard would sit down because he was going on a trip and the trip would take him a long way from anyone.

He didn't want to sit down, didn't care about being good. He'd tried often enough but being good kept going wrong. So he thought, maybe I should be bad. Bad would work.

The bad stuff he was planning wasn't well thought out. He'd be sloppy and probably get himself killed but he had a few tricks up his sleeve from his training with Teyla. When it came down to it, a hammer was just as good as Teyla's sticks and hurt more. Especially when using the claw end.

He stepped down, let out a roar, and charged at the Grays. There were three of them, observing his reactions. They obviously didn't consider him much of a threat. They were smiling away, presumably due to some joke they hadn't shared with him. Maybe it translated to, "Oh look at the dumb inferior human trying to attack us with a primitive weapon."

The first one, with the alien weapon, stood there like an idiot and Sheppard swung as hard as he could, using the ball of the hammer, connecting with the bloated head, the audible crack telling him that he'd pulled off his first kill.

The smile left the faces of the other aliens. They seemed confused by the response from their best test subject to date. Sheppard knew he wasn't supposed to be acting like this. They'd stuck a few hints into his thoroughly scrambled brains that said when he saw his new lord and masters he should shut up and follow meekly. And yeah, the desire was there, but the stronger desire was to protect his friends.

The other two, presumably the equivalent of Gray researchers, didn't have weapons. They panicked, spun on their midget heels, ready to run off. Sheppard aimed for the closest one, threw himself forward as fast as he could, smashed the tiny bastard right in the back of the head, heard the crack, felt the hammer sink a decent way down into the head. Seemed they had one serious weakness – their skulls weren't exactly thick.

The remaining alien let out a frightened squeal and made a move towards Carson and the other Grays.

Sheppard ran after him. From outside the lab he could hear some sounds, like someone trying to cut the door open with a welding torch. Probably the cavalry, although at this point in time, he thought they were going to be too late.

He weaved around behind the aliens, got between the group and the portal. He could feel it pulling at him, ready to drag him in. He was fucked anyway, so he didn't care.

"Let my friend go, or you're fucking next!"

The aliens were discovering the difficulties of trying to add in an unscheduled test subject while ignoring the strategic situation. Presumably they'd underestimated their enemy and gone in cocky. Served them right – a classic, greedy mistake.

The third one had joined his team mates, grabbed a weapon and whirled around to fire. Maybe he thought Carson was just as suitable as a test subject, so losing one was no big deal, and besides, in the end all of the A.T.A gene carriers were expendable. Sheppard reacted, all instinct, threw the hammer straight at its head, got a rewarding clunk as the claw end embedded into its forehead. It fell backwards with a thud. See, Gray, see what you get when you mess with a bad person.

Two left.

The remaining two finally quit, and dropped Carson's legs. They refocused back to their original intent – taking Sheppard.

He didn't have a weapon, and when he felt those parchment skin hands grabbing at his, his resolve to fight began melting away like a rogue hail storm on a summer's day. Oh. Shit. He was screwed.

He made an attempt to shake them loose, but their grip tightened, and all that conditioning he'd been fighting so hard to tamp down, started welling up. He would be going back, there wasn't any choice and he could only stand there, dumb, mute, waiting to die.

But at least he'd saved his friends.

He saw Carson scrabbling to his feet, Kate heading towards him, a hand held out, trying to somehow reach him. The aliens tugged him, pulled him into the vortex, and he was there, right there on the edge of precipice, every sense he had picking up the noises from the other side of the maw, the pitter patter of feet, the smell of death and he was teetering over, falling, falling backwards…

A hand reached out, grabbed a bunch of material on the hospital gown, another hand grabbed an arm and yanked. Another hand got the other arm. More pulling.

He'd closed his eyes, screwed them up tight when he'd felt the swirl of death behind him, but he forced them open now, saw that Rodney, Kate and Carson had grabbed him, their arms actually inside the portal's horizon, desperately trying to bring him back.

If they didn't let go, they'd be dragged in. The aliens would dispose of Kate, maybe Rodney, keep him and Carson before returning them – or not. He knew instinctively the upcoming round of testing they had planned for him might not kill him physically, but they'd kill him mentally. He'd be gone. Gone, gone, gone. Then again, at the rate he was going, he was fairly certain he didn't have a whole lot left in terms of sanity for them to take.

"Stop it!" He bellowed at them. They had to understand. "Let me go, you can't win. Let me go!"

Nobody answered him, and he felt himself at the center of another tug of war. He closed his eyes, told himself what he always told himself of late. I can go away from this. I can go far away and it's okay there, it's safe, I am untouched, and I am alone and that was the best way to be. People hurt, you got close to them, you trusted, put your faith in them and they betrayed you every single time. They walked away, disappeared. Or died. Not that it was their fault. The dying. They just did - but it still didn't make the sense of betrayal any easier to get over.

Hands were still yanking at him, both sides, he was like a chew toy, and he started screaming in rage and frustration, couldn't stand to have anyone else touch him, even though with the homing device gone the physical pain and overwhelming revulsion had left, but here he was, fought over like a souvenir.

He was vaguely aware of the sounds of something else in the portal. A Wraith stunner, the sounds of shooting. It struck him as a dangerous tactic in an enclosed space.

The hands kept tugging, more latched on, someone was yelling, "Don't let him go!"

The aliens actually seemed to loosen their grip. He heard a squeal to one side, like a stuck pig and his right arm wasn't being pulled out of its socket any more. Another squeal, a piercing screech and the left arm was free, and he was flying forward into a pile of people. Hey, the cavalry had arrived in time.

The smell of death, and the pull of the subspace vortex were gone.

"That'll teach them." The voice sound vaguely like Rodney but he wasn't sure. Another set of hands was pulling him upright, to his feet. He risked opening his eyes. The room was spinning around and he wasn't sure why. Carson was standing in front of him, looking distorted and blurry.

"John, are you okay?"

Debatable. He felt like he was submerging into a vat of molasses. Sinking slowly, no energy to pull himself free. He scanned the anxious faces looking at him, wished they'd stop, he wasn't some side show, and he'd been studied enough.

His eyes searched for danger, instantly homed in on one last problem.

A Gray. Standing there. Casual. What was he trying to do? Blend in? He was standing right beside Rodney, didn't Rodney see him?

He guessed they thought he'd run out of steam, but he had enough energy left, just enough, to deal with this one last problem. Kill him and it was over. All over. No more.

It took everything he had and he launched himself, leapt forward, grabbed the scrawny fucker by the neck. He was going to snap him in two.

"Jesus, he's got Hermiod. Someone get him off!"

He didn't know who said that. Didn't care. He squeezed, squeezed hard, felt the thing in his hands squirm, thrash, choke as it tried to get air and it was good, it was good to see his nightmare dying like this. Just one more death, just one more to send to hell and he could sleep, sleep a long time, go away, never come back. He'd feared going away into the portal but upon reflection, it wasn't such a bad idea. A good escape plan for a bad guy.

The hands were back to grabbing him again. He shrugged them off.

"Colonel! Colonel Sheppard! Christ, you're killing him. Stop it!" The statement was tinged with hysteria. Must have been McKay.

He laughed, relieved, because that was his intent. The hands were trying to pry off his fingers, actually lift them up, but this was his last shot and they would have to fucking break them to get him off.

There was a sensation on his arm, wasn't worth taking much notice of, like a scratch. Easy to ignore. The hands continued to pull him backwards, the thing in his hands refused to die but it was getting weaker. _Yes_.

He couldn't keep it up, something else crept through his veins, he was fading, his eyes were shutting again, he fought to keep them open. He really was leaving, which was a shame since the thing was still alive.

Kate was in his line of sight, and so was Carson. Carson was talking.

"It's over, you're okay. Everything is going to be okay."

Carson was wearing his lab coat. It was white. White was the color of the good guys and vanilla ice cream and paper and whipped cream and angels and snow.

He liked snow.

((--))

Carson caught Sheppard as he slumped, a couple of marines helped set him down on the floor. Rodney had gone to the aid of Hermiod and Carson immediately ran back to Hermiod as soon as Sheppard was lying down.

Hermiod was on the floor, struggling for breath. Rodney was kneeling beside the Asgard, wearing a shocked expression.

"He's not going to die is he? I mean, underneath it all, I like the little guy. You hear that Hermiod? I don't think you're that bad."

Carson bent down to view the injury to Hermiod's neck. Bruising all ready apparent, Sheppard's hand a clear outline, the bruises shaped like fingertips. Carson tried to run through the injuries in his mind, but he didn't have any idea about Asgard physiology. Strangulation in humans could break the hyoid bone, fracture the larynx, there might be a fracture of the vertebrae. The swelling could kill a person. Did Asgard even have those parts? The basics were the same; ensure the airway was open and stable. Hermiod was struggling to speak, clearly couldn't.

"Don't worry yourself Hermiod. We'll get you fixed up in no time." Carson hit his radio button, took a quick glance around the room at the wounded and dead.

"Dr. Jacobson, I've got a medical emergency in lab three. Hermiod's down. Possible severe neck injury. I have one male with a burn and possible abdominal injuries, unconscious, and I have another male unconscious, status unknown. I have one sedated male who's also going to need transport."

The radio immediately crackled into life. "Don't worry Carson, we're about thirty seconds away. Caldwell called in and said there were casualties."

Carson could do nothing but stay by Hermiod's side. His thoughts drifted to a variety of medical problems. He didn't know how they were going to stabilize Hermiod's neck for transport. Did they even carry pediatric cervical collars?

True to his word, Jacobson hit the lab, with an EMT team, extra gurneys – slammed to a stop as he momentarily surveyed the chaos.

"Holy, shit."

Carson beckoned him over. "How's your Asgard biology?"

"I studied it before I got posted to the Daedalus."

Jacobson bent down beside Hermiod, did a visual survey but restrained himself from palpitating the injury site until he had a better idea of what was happening.

"Hermiod, we're going to get you down to the infirmary and then we'll probably put you in stasis until the High Command can transfer you to a ship. Okay?"

The Asgard didn't say much, just closed his eyes.

While Jacobson busied himself getting Hermiod ready to move, placing around a specially designed collar, Beckett moved to his next two patients. Ronon and Lorne.

Both were unconscious, both breathing. Breathing was always a bonus. Lorne had no obvious signs of injuries so Beckett presumed he'd only been stunned. He wouldn't be surprised if it hadn't been a case of friendly fire, considering the close quarters fighting. He went to Ronon, checked the shirt around the burn. The material had fused into the wound, a deep furrow through the skin and part of the muscle. Healing a wound that size, especially a burn, was going to take a considerable amount of time and specialist care.

"Theodore, once you've assessed and stabilized Ronon, can you arrange to get him transported to SGC? He's going to need a dedicated burns unit."

"Got it."

The injured and dead were removed, whittling the numbers down until they were left with nothing but Sheppard. Rodney helped Carson get Sheppard upright, along with Kate, and place the man on the last gurney.

Rodney stood back, his expression miserable. He looked like he was about to cry. Kate came up to him, took his hand, squeezed it.

"We're going to be all right, Rodney. It's going to be okay."

Rodney tugged his hand from hers. "Right. Yes. We're all going to be just fine because of course, seeing Sheppard try to strangle Hermiod to death is just an every day occurrence. Yeah, this day has been fun. A lot of fun. We should do it again, real soon."

Carson didn't blame Rodney for his reaction because he wasn't feeling too stable himself. He looked down at his hands. They were shaking. Thank God he didn't need to do any surgery immediately. He could do with a few minutes to calm down.

"Rodney, I don't think they're going to come back. The homing device has gone, and considering what just happened, they'd think twice."

"Yeah. Sure. Whatever." Rodney turned his back on them, strode back to the consoles. "You should take Sheppard down to the infirmary. I've got work to do."

Carson opened his mouth to say something, but Kate gave him a warning glance and he didn't push it. Just grabbed the gurney and started wheeling it out of the room.

((--))

It was a mess. A big, fat mess. They'd come back from the Daedalus emotionally crippled. Sheppard was catatonic, Rodney was a wreck. Even Kate and Carson seemed dazed.

Elizabeth did as the leader of the Atlantis expedition was expected to do. She arranged the paperwork for Ronon, made sure the SGC knew his background, prayed he'd be okay and make a speedy recovery. Lorne was back to duty within a day, healthy, the effects of the stunner worn off.

She didn't quite know where to begin with the rest of the team and she was dreading writing the report. Caldwell had pretty much moved in permanently with John out of commission and Kate seemed to think it would be a long time before John came back, if ever.

She thought back to her original push for the security protocols to be implemented. Carson had warned her to leave well enough alone when Sheppard hadn't been able to remember. She could have done nothing, not even mentioned it in her reports, fibbed, told some lies. But she'd pushed and then she'd regretted the push and it was too late to take back. Too late to undo any of this.

Elizabeth Weir hated days like this. She'd second guess herself to the end of time, rerun her decisions, rerun her actions.

She sighed, signed onto her laptop and began to type. About the only thing she could do now was figure out a way to stop them sending Sheppard back to Earth because once he was there, she doubted she'd ever see him again.

((--))

Sun was shining through the window. The rays of light came through the glass, created patterns on the floor covering and he liked to watch the patterns, watch the floor. He was unconcerned that the patterns took a long time to change.

He was slumped on the couch in Kate's office. Sometimes he sat, most times he lay on his side, curled up, arm under his head. Wherever he went he took the Ancient toy that Rodney had given him. It worked now, since the device had gone and it was reassuring to be able to pull it out of his jacket pocket and activate it. He liked that it talked away in its silly voice. Even Kate didn't seem to mind but he figured he must have taken a serious trip over the cliffs of insanity if she let him just lie around in her office like a beached whale and occasionally play with nursery toys produced by a long extinct race. Hey, a beached whale that had fallen off the cliffs of insanity and into a vat of molasses while playing with toys. Yeah, screwed. So screwed. Bad analogies were just the start.

Apparently, it had taken him a few days to come back from his latest attempt to depart reality prematurely. Carson and Kate had agreed on using the standard treatment first. Lorezapam, into the muscle. Carson had just kept plugging him with doses at the prescribed intervals and three days later he'd swum back up from wherever he'd been, and rejoined the land of the living. He was back on Atlantis, in his favorite room in the infirmary. There was sarcastic emphasis on 'favorite'.

The first day of awareness, his face still hurt from the guide screws, so he got ibuprofen for that. Then his sinus decided to spontaneously drain. He hadn't been capable of doing anything but lying in the bed, didn't have the strength or energy to take care of it. He'd felt a tissue against his face.

"Blow. You've had a wee bit of a sinus infection."

His brain, still trying to make sense of the various stimuli, thought he was four again, and it was his father. He did as he was told. A wad of snot seemed to seep out of his nose. The event was followed by a brief silence, and he thought he saw Carson examining the contents of said tissue.

"Lad, I think your sinus is going to take a while to drain."

He pulled a face. "S'not good." His brain said he may have inadvertently made a joke but he was too tired to care. He felt his eyes closing again.

After that, he was more lively, but living was open to interpretation. He talked when he was asked a question, he made himself lie still when Carson or Richard changed his dressings, even though he wanted to squirm away, because it was another thing that they'd want him to talk over. Mostly he found that he liked staring at walls. Or the ceiling. Or a speck of dust on the bed table.

Rodney visited him a few times, seemed off kilter, spooked on many levels. Sheppard would have provided some support if only he could think of the words to say.

Carson told him Hermiod was okay. It didn't have much meaning to him. He didn't remember Hermiod being around. Grays, yes. Lots of them. Or it seemed like a lot. He'd remembered them trying to take Carson and he was glad that the plan had failed. Carson was still here, and that was good.

Kate usually just stayed in her chair when he was in her office, but sometimes she knelt beside him and put her hand on his arm. He never reacted, but he never pulled away either. Sometimes she said something, usually something meaningless because he didn't want to talk about what had been happening and she couldn't make him. Besides, he couldn't make any sense of the images. They were disjointed, like someone had done some bad editing on a movie. When the movie got too shocking, he tried to leave. One day he'd been in her office, and a piece of paper had fallen on the floor and for that second, when it was fluttering down, it sounded like the scratch of unnaturally small feet. He'd bolted, found enough energy to leave, used a couple of transporters to find a deserted part of the city and hide out.

The place had gone bat shit. They'd sent out search parties and located him a day later. He didn't care, he'd kicked back in a long deserted set of quarters he'd found. Not comfortable but not bad. He preferred the quiet, and he especially liked the lack of people, and the lack of reminders of the past month or more.

When they'd found him - Carson leading the charge - Carson had wearily remarked, "I see you can find some get-up-and-go when you need to, Colonel."

Sure, if it involved crawling off by himself to lick his wounds, sure. Unfortunately all of the compassionate people surrounding him with masses of pity and concern thought it was a bad idea. Hey, a bad idea from a bad man – why were they surprised?

Kate let out a soft sigh, glanced at her watch.

"Sorry, Colonel, I have someone else to see. I'll come and visit you tonight, okay?"

He nodded, managed to get himself upright. The door opened, Richard came in. After his last escape attempt, he got escorted to and from Kate's office. He guessed he could have taken Richard out if he wanted to, but he didn't. Besides, he'd had enough killing for a while. Killing – even of Grays – left him with nothing but endless flashbacks of the physical sensations of feeling them die by his hand.

He was stepping out of the office, Rodney almost crashed into him. That was the other person. Rodney hesitated, looked embarrassed.

"I'm helping her out. She's hopeless with the WiFi connection, can't seem to get her laptop connected."

Sheppard smiled, a small smile, knew that Rodney was lying because Rodney couldn't lie to save his own life – and that was a literal truth.

"Well, hope you're feeling better soon," said Rodney. It sounded stilted and forced, as though Kate had been making him practice saying the phrase, which presumably she had.

For some reason it suddenly seemed important to figure out what was bugging Rodney. The scientist was avoiding him, or maybe not avoiding him, just unsure of how to act around him, or what to say. Rodney, and him, it was a difficult friendship. They traded insults, fought like cat and dog, Sheppard yelled at him, Rodney protested at his treatment. Ultimately McKay pulled their collective asses out of the fire, and Sheppard worked some weapons magic and provided backup. They were actually a good team, if they could just get past the superficiality. Scientist and Soldier. If Rodney couldn't figure it out they could always blow it up with C4. It was like a perfect combo. Like milk and cornflakes.

There were those bad analogies again. Although Sheppard knew he'd definitely become a flake.

"Hey."

Rodney was half way through the door. He stopped, turned around.

"Yes?"

Sheppard shifted the weight on his feet. He'd managed to get back into shoes over the last week, for which he was grateful but not as grateful as he thought he would be. His emotional range was distinctly flat these days, not that it was ever exactly there to begin with.

"Are you okay?"

Rodney frowned, looked at him like he'd just asked the world's stupidest question. Kate hovered in the background, eavesdropping.

"No. Not really. But thanks for asking."

Both men stood there, Sheppard unable to think of anything else to say, Rodney not inclined to offer him more. Sheppard's brain ticked over. Did he care whether Rodney was okay or not? On many levels, it didn't matter. It was all about keeping safe, keeping everyone at arm's length, because he didn't think he could go through more loss or any more pain, or worry that by Sheppard simply being around, others could be hurt. Atlantis had, unfortunately, gifted him with friends, whether he liked it or not. Friends were just something to worry about.

He shifted again, rocked on his feet. "Uh, I'm sorry?" Sheppard looked at McKay, tried to judge whether that was the right thing to ask. Or say.

"What the hell are you sorry about? Jesus." Rodney crossed his arms.

"McKay."

"Yes?"

"I don't understand."

"Understand what?"

"Understand. What happened. There's stuff. It's, uh, it's kind of jumbled."

"Oh." Rodney uncrossed his arms, didn't seem to know what to do next. Kate stepped forward.

"Rodney, how do you feel about John sitting in?"

Rodney shrugged. "Sure. I guess. He'd better not blab about this to anyone though. I have a reputation to protect."

It was Sheppard's turn to shrug. "The way my brain operates these days, I doubt I'll remember what I had for dinner."

"Yes. Okay then. Fine."

Sheppard took his cue from Rodney and Kate and followed them back in. This was a big risk, and he wasn't sure why he was taking it, but maybe he'd get some of his marbles back.

((--))


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Carson worked through the case notes for Sheppard on his laptop. They'd been combined with Kate's work for a report to send back to the SGC and the IOA. Elizabeth had held the report off as long as possible but of course, as soon as the Daedalus made it back to Earth, with Hermiod in stasis, two dead marines, and an injured Ronon, there wasn't anyway to cover it up.

The IOA were always big on conclusions and suppositions, the bottom line coming down to whether Sheppard would ever be fit for his command position.

Unfortunately, right now, the answer was no. Sheppard was not fit for duty. Carson couldn't find anyway to paint a rosy picture, and he wasn't going to lie. None of them had walked off the Daedalus without scars. Carson had nightmares for a week, and taken liberties as a doctor by self prescribing sleeping pills for a few days. Kate struggled as much as he did, but they had the advantage of being able to support each other, and she'd pushed herself hard to be able to help Rodney and Sheppard. The scientist was taking longer than usual to get back to normal. The sight of Sheppard strangling Hermiod had shaken Rodney's faith in the Colonel's humanity to the core. Clearly the Colonel was crazy, but if he could attack Hermiod, one of the good guys, was everything he said to McKay just an idle threat? Rodney had felt safe, now he didn't and now he was struggling with the twist on their relationship. How did you work with a guy that you knew, with certainty, was capable of killing anyone – friend or foe – in his way?

He decided that he really did hate the Pegasus galaxy. The whole expanse of inhabited planets only had one ambition – beating up Atlantis and her inhabitants.

Carson had spent the first two weeks after Sheppard's return getting him stable enough to sleep without waking up and screaming his head off, or watching his heart rate go through the roof. He'd used a combination of alprazolam and beta-blockers to get Sheppard through, then tapered off the alprazolam, cut the beta-blockers and started him on a longer course of buspirone, combined with an SSRI. He'd performed numerous scans, to check the position of any device tendrils and found only two, both half the diameter of a single human hair and coiled within the sinus. The scans seemed to indicate that they'd previously been positioned through the sinus floor and into the brain. Presumably the tendrils had been the Grays' method of controlling Sheppard and inhibiting the other key component of using the A.TA. gene – the mental component. Disconnected from the device they seemed harmless and he'd decided to leave them where they were unless they caused further problems.

Kate was working with Sheppard as much as possible, using combat stress control protocols. Get them grounded, get them healthy and get them back on missions, because ironically the theory was that if you told soldiers they were still great at their job of killing people, it made them confident human beings.

Sheppard wasn't falling for that any more. Especially the mission part.

About the only good news was that the ulcers had actually healed. The skin was still prone to breaking down, but for the most part, Sheppard was good to go. Physically at least.

Carson rubbed his face. He was tired, wished he could just forget everything that had happened. Memories made people what they were, and memories undid them. He wished he could just take them all away.

The case notes sat there, roughly typed. He had to run the spellchecker, do a read through because someone with a grammar fetish was bound to mark up the report with a red pen and Post-Its. As if they had nothing better to do – and they probably didn't.

He scrolled through the rest of the notes, the reports, made sure he did a copy and paste of all the important parts, got the dates right. He read the text again, and he kept coming back to the same part.

Only a couple of years ago, he may have argued about the morality of the course of action he was considering. Then again, a couple of years ago he wouldn't have believed it if someone had told him that Carson Beckett was conducting genetic experiments on aliens and turning them into humans. Humans that experienced only a temporary soul without the daily administration of drugs.

There were choices to make on behalf of those who weren't capable of making them. There was a chance of redemption and damned if he wasn't going to grab hold of it, even if the redemption was personally delivered by the devil himself.

((--))

Rodney had taken John and Teyla for a stroll around one of the landing decks. It was on the deserted side of the city, and wasn't being used. It had become the impromptu Atlantis 'beach'. Deck chairs were arranged on one side with a few tables. Brightly colored umbrellas over the tables shielded the inhabitants from the sun. Three surfboards sat in a rack near the door. Someone had even rigged up a diving board.

In summer the place was usually packed, someone from the cafeteria had even come up the bright idea of setting up a cobbled together snack bar.

It wasn't summer however, nowhere near it. It was one of those spring days where the cold of the night couldn't quite be chased away by the morning sun.

He'd had a lot to ponder of late and it was all the hard stuff that Rodney hated to have to try and work out. The easy stuff he'd solved first. There had been the problem of whether the Grays would come back. It seemed they had placed specific 'alert' points on a variety of planets where they'd been experimenting. The Ancient tech in the bar of the planet that had started it all was a prime example. But that was a simple one to fix. If a team went to any planets with few natural users, Old One legends, and dust covered Ancient devices then they should turn around and run away as fast as possible.

The hard stuff, the stuff he hated, was people. What made them tick, and what made them break – he avoided if possible. Give him some quantum mechanics and he'd be tucked up in front of his laptop for hours, wouldn't even consider taking a break. People, however, didn't follow neat linear paths, nor were they made up in a way that allowed their actions to be predicted with total certainty and accuracy. Oh yeah, Theory of Mind said that kids eventually worked out some rules for interaction but for some it was harder than others. Maybe his preschool teacher, Miss Malone, had summed it up best when she'd repeatedly written the phrase, "Rodney will not share his toys, nor does he play well with others." The sandpit incident, where he dinged another kid in the head with a plastic spade for daring to criticize his carefully constructed castle, seemed to have set a precedent. The same child had taken offense and proceeded to grab a handful of hair and use the same spade to smack Rodney in the face. There had been crying, flailing, and sand throwing. Yeah, three-year-olds were brutal. Or more to the point, ordinary three-year-olds did not like peers who could read, add, subtract, multiply and do long division.

His parents gave up their attempts at letting him be a 'normal' child and took him home.

Walking with Teyla and Sheppard around the area, he felt like he did at preschool. Bewildered. That was his most common feeling of late. Bewildered by the sight of John Sheppard partying with a full blown psychosis on the Daedalus and bewildered by the new version of John Sheppard that seemed to have transferred in afterwards. Although, maybe the old one was still around. Sometimes he caught a glimpse, but the new guy that had come in as a replacement wasn't so inclined to joking and mostly kept his mouth shut. The new guy scared Rodney, just a little.

Rodney had taken a few weeks to get back to his usual self. He'd made up an excuse for his non appearance in the lab by saying that he'd picked up the flu. Not that it helped. Rumors and gossip had been flying around Atlantis ever since the Daedalus had arrived. People tended to abruptly stop their conversations whenever Rodney or Sheppard turned up and their faces were usually etched with sympathy.

It was embarrassing.

Worse, Teyla seemed to have assigned herself the task of unofficial babysitter.

He glanced back at John, who was lagging. As usual. He moved slowly these days, seemed to have to put a lot of effort into just getting one foot in front of the other. Kate and Carson had told Rodney that exercise helped improve mood, and concentration, so both men spent their time trudging around and around the deck. Teyla trudged with them.

Kind of Zen like and meditative, if one was to believe all the nonsense from Kate. The woman was laboring under the delusion that psychology was a science. Psychology was about as scientific as astrology.

Still, even if it was no better than astrology, he liked talking to Kate.

"Hurry up slow poke," he said over his shoulder. John had been walking but keeping his attention focused out to the waves, much as he always did. He refocused on Rodney, quickened his pace enough to catch up.

"Sorry."

Rodney rolled his eyeballs. That single word seemed to have become Sheppard's sentence for all occasions of late. "For pity's sake, stop apologizing for every single thing you do. It's enough to drive _me_ crazy."

The sentence rolled out his mouth before the censor in his brain could stop itself. Sometimes his self control was useless – his internal censor barely worked and always seemed to catch on to the fact that he'd insulted someone after the event.

John didn't seem insulted. He merely smiled and said, "I'm sorry for being sorry."

Yeah, sometimes there were glimpses of the old Sheppard. It hurt.

Teyla got a familiar look of sadness on her face, the expression that cropped up regularly. She'd trusted Ronon to take care of Sheppard, taken Sheppard's word about calling Beckett and the entire disaster had unfolded without her. Teyla wasn't one for blaming herself or trying to imagine how things might have been, but Rodney could tell she felt guilty. Maybe she thought she could have stopped it somehow, maybe with Ronon and her fighting side-by-side she could have made a difference. Maybe Ronon wouldn't be by himself at the SGC.

Personally he thought that if she'd been on the Daedalus she might have wound up a crispy critter too, and he'd tried telling her that but she didn't seem inclined to listen. Mainly she just spent her time making sure Sheppard was okay when Rodney was working and she wasn't on a mission.

Everyone spent time making sure Sheppard was okay. Kate worked with him every day; Carson insisted that he continued to sleep in the infirmary. Even Caldwell was in on the act, assigning the odd trivial piece of work that Sheppard could handle over a few days or week. If Caldwell was going for the sympathy line around Sheppard, then Sheppard was well and truly screwed. He'd noticed that Sheppard didn't exactly welcome all the companionship with open arms. He tolerated it because he had no choice but every opportunity he had, he tried to get away from people. The bathroom in the infirmary seemed to be a favorite spot, presumably because it was the one place people didn't pursue him, or at least they held off. Sheppard apparently spent a lot of time sitting on the floor.

Aw, fuck it. He was sick of walking. He went to the edge of the deck, and sat down. Dangled his legs over the drop, peered down to the water. Idly wondered if he should consider taking up fishing. Sheppard mimicked his actions and Rodney couldn't help but note the brief look of fear in Teyla's eyes. He'd become irritated with Little Miss Perfect of late. He used to have a secret crush on her, but she scared the crap out of him, so he'd managed to keep his mouth shut, which for Rodney McKay was like trying to ask a kid to sleep through Christmas Eve. Besides, he always thought that from the first time Teyla had turned up with Sheppard in Atlantis there was maybe something going on, even if neither of them was likely to admit it. These days, the beautiful face didn't matter so much. Just the fact that she kept hanging around.

"Relax; no one's going off the edge."

"Speak for yourself, McKay." It was Sheppard. It was supposed to be a joke. No one laughed.

Teyla didn't sit, just stood there, tense and alert, apparently ready to haul them back from the edge at the first lemming like twitch. He concluded that she was about one second away from contacting Beckett, or Kate, or even both of them. Rodney put his stubbornness to good use. It had been under exercised of late and needed a decent workout. He remained on the ledge, swinging his feet. Sheppard didn't do any feet swinging, just went back to aimlessly staring at the horizon.

She watched them like a hawk, and after about ten minutes, Rodney thought he might have tormented her enough.

He tugged at Sheppard's arm. "Come on, Florence Nightingale is getting nervous."

Sheppard wearily climbed to his feet, pursed his lips. "I make everyone nervous these days."

"Well, next time, try to avoid the whole abduction by evil Asgard angle."

He watched as Sheppard tensed briefly, just around the shoulders, an involuntary shrug. No, not a shrug, more like the gesture a person made when they were cold.

Teyla frowned. "Dr. McKay, I do not think that is an appropriate topic of conversation."

He didn't take any notice of her, just watched as Sheppard visibly forced himself to relax.

Sheppard said, "You know, I wish to God every day that it never happened. I wish I didn't remember a single thing."

McKay nodded, wearily, briefly clapped a hand on Sheppard's shoulder before pulling the hand away.

"You and me both."

((--))

Elizabeth couldn't believe what she was hearing. She looked from Carson to Kate. Didn't speak for a few seconds.

"You're a doctor. You're supposed to protect your patients."

Beckett ran a hand through his hair, frustrated that she didn't understand. Not yet anyway. "Bloody hell Elizabeth, I'd never do anything to hurt him. But we don't have a choice – _he_ doesn't have a choice. He will come back from this, he's tough, but the John Sheppard left at the end of this, is not the John Sheppard that walked through the stargate. Who he was, who he's going to become, they're not the same."

"Carson, if you're telling me he's going to change personalities, I find that hard to believe."

Kate shook her head, took up where Carson left off. "It's not a matter of changing personalities, it's a matter of every experience we've ever had molding us into the people we become. People who haven't been repeatedly traumatized don't really understand…" She broke off in frustration. "They're like kids with their faces pressed up against a window, staring into a house. Inside it's warm, there's a family and they're laughing and everyone's happy. Outside it's cold, and it's lonely but it's what they know. It's safe. It's known. They might try and find the door, they might even open it, but they're never going to enter. That ability, to step inside – it's gone."

Carson sighed. "He was prone to being a loner and now it's even worse. He walks around with Rodney, but only because we essentially force him. I don't know if he can stand to be around anyone long enough to complete a mission."

It was Elizabeth's turn to sigh. She felt trapped, wondered if what they were proposing was going to make the situation even worse, and didn't think she could stand to think how things could get any worse. She directed her next statement at Carson. "He'll never forgive you if this goes wrong."

Carson nodded sadly. "Aye. But I think we have to be prepared to take that chance."

((--))

He'd woken up early in the morning, as always, at five. Found the usual babysitter nurse sitting in a recliner. Today it was Marcy. Presumably waiting for Richard to turn up. He'd didn't care about the extra presence any more. Mostly he pretended they weren't there.

Marcy noticed that he was awake. She glanced at her watch. "You're like clockwork," she said.

"Go me," he replied. Then he rolled over so that his back was to her and he could ignore her. If he was normal again – whatever the fuck normal happened to be – he would have just acted like the adult he used to be and got himself out of bed, slipped into his sweats and gone for a run. These days if he tried to do anything that used to be normal, someone chased after him.

As usual, he'd never get back to sleep. He'd remain in bed like a sack of concrete and wait for Richard to turn up. At least he'd get breakfast.

"Do you want me to get you anything?" Marcy's voice drifted up from the other side of the room.

"No. I'm good."

He found it distressingly easy, even after all of these weeks, to just let himself drift off, disconnected from the real world. Time would pass and sometimes he'd blink and he wasn't even aware of it. The medication that Carson had prescribed helped, at least stopped him from startling at every single sound or too rapid movement. But he still wasn't inclined to active engagement with people.

The door opened. He'd expected Richard in another hour or so but instead, Carson walked in, with Kate, and Richard bringing up the rear. It was way too early for any of them.

Something about the delegation made him nervous. He started to sit up, trying to make sure he had a clear bolt path. The bathroom would be the safest, he could hole up in there, the one place with a guaranteed water supply. They'd have to drag him out or starve him out and that would take weeks.

They seemed collectively anxious, all saddened, and deeply unhappy about events he didn't understand. Carson cleared his throat.

"Son, before we start, I'd just like to apologize, and I hope to God you never remember this."

Sheppard looked towards Kate. Her eyes were brimming with tears and he thought it was ridiculous, crying so early in the morning, especially when he didn't know the reason.

Two marines seemed have slipped in unannounced. Lorne was one of them, and another guy he didn't know.

This wasn't good.

He muscles were taut, he was coiled, ready to go.

Lorne and the other marine stepped forward, got on either side of the bed before he could get himself ready and Lorne had a hand on his right shoulder, gripping his upper arm, the other guy on his left shoulder, gripping the other.

"Sorry about this sir," whispered Lorne.

"You want to tell me what the fuck is going on?"

Carson and Richard stepped forward, seemed they'd been hiding restraints behind their backs. Oh no, no way was he going there.

He summoned up the energy that had been so hard to find and began to fight and then everyone was on top of him, and it was more hands again, more than he could ever deal with. Someone was tying down a leg, someone had managed to get a wrist into a cuff and loop it around the safety rails.

He struggled, writhed, bucked, kicked with the leg that was free, tried to punch with his one free hand but he was overwhelmed. He'd found that long missing energy and it was pouring out of him and he couldn't jam it down. He arched his back, shouted, but there was nothing left to be done and then he was prone and immobilized and he couldn't escape.

"Hello, Colonel. How are you?"

The voice was sickeningly familiar.

Royce was standing in the doorway. Moustache, cheesy Hawaiian shirt, baseball cap and all. He smiled and a shiver ran down Sheppard's spine.

He snarled, pulled against the restraints, pulled against the others.

Richard was off to one side drawing up the drugs, looking like he was about to throw up. Kate and Carson were by his bed, trying to calm him down.

"I fucking saved you Carson! How can you do this to me!"

Kate gently placed a hand on his forehead, trying to soothe him but he wasn't about to be mollified.

"He knows John, he knows. You saved us. And now we're going to save you."

((--))

Carson felt as if he'd bathed in mud. He was dirt, and filth and he didn't think he was ever going to get himself clean.

It had taken Lorne and the other marine to hold Sheppard still long enough to put the saline lock in. Sheppard had gone beyond the ability to argue or reason. He was uncontrolled rage and anger and he made it hard on them all. Carson had blown the first vein he'd tried for, Lorne had wound up putting his full weight on the wrist just to keep Sheppard from jerking his hand back, despite the restraints. Sheppard had become determined to fight with the sudden influx of adrenaline.

He was abnormally grateful that the restraints were padded with wool. At least the man wasn't going to abrade his wrists and ankles all over again.

Sheppard screamed at him again, snarling like a rabid dog. 'You're a fucking bastard!" There were other names too, ones Carson hadn't heard used in a long time.

The port was in, at long last. Carson stepped back, let Royce get in there. Royce seemed unperturbed by the bedlam, just calmly inserted the needle into the port, and just as calmly injected the contents slowly and methodically, while Sheppard's hand was pinned to the bed. Did the same for the second syringe.

The drug took a little longer to kick in this time, presumably because John was struggling. He slowly relaxed though, enough to lie back against the pillows. Royce set about setting up his machine, the one that could apparently alter memories.

Royce attached the pads to Sheppard's head, put the cardiac monitor pads onto the chest. Sheppard watched him warily, not smiling, but too drugged to be able to do much.

"How're you doing there, Colonel?"

Sheppard spat at Royce. The spit landed on the side of Royce's cheek. He didn't react, just pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped it away.

"I see you're in a good mood."

Carson didn't have time for this. "Can you hurry it up?"

"Patience is required here Dr. Beckett. I've got to trace every memory he has and make sure I've wiped every trigger he's got. Smell, sight, sound. It's going to take a lot longer than enhancing them."

That wasn't the answer Carson wanted to hear. "You'd better get this right. If he remembers even one single thing…"

Royce briefly gave into his emotions at that point, turned on Beckett, his eyes dark and unforgiving.

"He won't. I am very, very good at my job. Right, everyone else, get out. You, Dr. Beckett, are going to have to stay because I need you to monitor his vitals."

They did as they were told. Carson remained, feeling out of place and older than he should.

Royce turned his full attention back to Sheppard. "John, I need you to think back for me. To when you first woke up on the planet."

Sheppard's brow wrinkled, the screen on Royce's memory device flashed a series of changing shapes and changing colors.

As the memories came up, as Sheppard gazed up at the ceiling, remembering all over again, sobbing quietly because that was all he had the strength to do, Royce started tapping on the keyboard, deleting as he went.

((--))

Rodney sat in the recliner and observed the figure in the bed. Still. Pale. A cardiac monitor showed a steady heartbeat. The automated blood pressure cuff showed a normal blood pressure. He'd been like this for two days.

Carson had said that Sheppard had suffered a set back of some sort, gone into a coma. Sounded like crap to Rodney and even Rodney could tell Carson was lying his head off. It hadn't taken much prodding to get the full story.

Beckett had taken him into the office and explained the situation. Rodney had gone ballistic. He'd yelled at Carson, been right in the Scot's face, ready to punch him. Thankfully Teyla had been there, as well as Kate, and they'd been able to pull him off.

"It was for his own good, Rodney."

"His own good? He's in a freaking coma! How's that for his own good?"

"Because without any memories, there's nothing to be traumatized about. He's going to be back to his old self. Royce assured me that the coma was normal. He should come out of it in the next twenty-four hours or so."

"What's the game plan after that? Any bright ideas about what the fuck you're going to tell him?"

Kate was pushing him towards a chair. "Sit down, let us explain."

"Oh, so you were in on this brilliant scheme as well? Let me congratulate you on your decision to sanction medical torture."

Teyla appeared to be confused, wasn't entirely sure on all of the jargon. "I do not believe Dr. Heightmeyer or Dr. Beckett would ever approve of torture."

Rodney sat in the chair, feeling the anger draining out of him. Probably why Kate had made him sit in the first place. A good way to put him into a lower position than everyone else, make him subconsciously submissive to the group dynamics. "If you didn't torture him, then maybe someone needs to explain to me what you thought you were doing. Or what we're going to tell him."

Kate leaned against Carson's desk. "That's the point, Rodney. We've got a cover story. You need to be in on this."

"What if I don't want to?"

"Then you'll undo all the hard work. True, it won't be as bad because he'll have no memories of the events, but he's going to feel betrayed."

"You think?"

For the first time, Rodney noticed how shattered Carson appeared. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his eyes were bloodshot.

"Rodney, I'm begging you. This is our one shot. Please, just agree that you'll keep your mouth shut."

He considered them for a moment, considered what Sheppard had been like recently. Okay, yes, he could do that. Shut up and lie. Or at least do his best to lie. He doubted he could pull it off. He was no good at lying.

"So, everyone's going to be in on this little charade? Caldwell, Ronon – everyone?"

They all nodded. Even Teyla.

"All right," he said. "I'm in."

((--))

Elizabeth Weir sat in her office, keeping her desk between herself and Royce. He sat, his usual inscrutable smile on his face, his ever present suitcase parked to one side of his chair. She was once more reminded of an oil slick.

He indicated towards the edge of her desk. The beer he'd left behind for Sheppard was still where she'd placed it. She didn't know why the carry packs were still there, just that putting them away in a cupboard would have seemed as if she was putting away Sheppard.

"I see you've kept my gift."

"I was going to get rid of them. It slipped my mind."

"Sure it did." He pulled out a cigar, he didn't bother to ask her permission. She doubted he ever would. He lit up, puffed out a few smoke rings. They floated lazily towards the air conditioning vents.

"You know, he'll be fine. He'll wake up, as good a new. Or more to the point he'll wake up as good as the old one."

She stood up, turned to observe the control room through the office window.

"I suppose you expect me to thank you."

"Well, not that I want to be appear to be fishing for compliments, but you and Dr. Beckett were the ones that called me here. And you're damn lucky Sheppard has his supporters, or more to the point, they're not going to throw the 2IC on the garbage heap without at least one shot at redemption. "

The smoke drifted her way and she coughed slightly. The diplomat in her grudgingly admitted that she had to at least acknowledge her gratitude even if it made her feel like she was aiding and abetting in medical experimentation.

"I want to thank you but you can probably imagine how difficult it is."

"Sure. Hey, I get the same reactions back at SGC. Ol' Royce comes a calling and they all start quaking in their combat boots."

He stood up, the cigar stuck in his mouth. He absently chewed on the end.

"Time I was going anyways. My boss will worry."

"You have a boss?"

"Yeah, and I've said too much all ready."

He came up to her, stuck out his hand and she reluctantly shook it. His hands were cold and sweaty and she thought it was like shaking hands with a corpse.

"Hope to see you again soon, Elizabeth. No hard feelings."

He strolled out towards the control room, got one of the technicians to start dialing up the address for Earth. Sauntered down to the stargate itself. The event horizon roared into life, Royce turned his head, looked up at her, smiled and waved.

It was one of the creepiest things Elizabeth had ever seen.

((--))

Waking up was hard work. Sometimes he could hear sounds but they'd fade away. A snatch of a conversation or the smell of antiseptic would briefly filter into the range of his senses and then drift away. He thought he heard someone ripping something off the walls, sounded like they were tearing off wallpaper. Someone or maybe it was lots of someone's kept telling him that he was okay, that he should wake up because everyone missed him. The voices were male and female. He recognized some of them. Rodney for one. Teyla. Didn't hear Ronon though.

He managed to get there, in the end. He'd been hearing more conversations over the past hour but they were confusing. Sometimes he thought he was back in Afghanistan. Sometimes Antarctica. It was like his brain was trying to boot itself back up but having problems processing the input in a coherent way.

"The EEG is looking good. He's been climbing up all morning, so I think he's going to be with us very soon. In fact, let me just check here."

A hand touched his arm. Someone with a Scottish accent was encouraging him to open his eyes.

"Colonel? Can you open your eyes for me? Just a wee bit, let me know you're awake."

He did as he'd been asked, managed to pull his eyelids open a fraction, watched as a fuzzy face came into view and then morphed into Carson. Carson was smiling at him.

Okay, he had questions. Things were a little whacked out at the moment. He opened his eyes some more, felt slightly sick, closed them again.

"That's to be expected. Don't worry about it. You've been in a coma for a good while now, and there's going to be a few side effects. If you need to sleep, just go back to sleep."

He didn't argue with that logic. He was confused as to why he'd been in a coma because he didn't remember anything except that stupid planet, but he was sure someone would explain it to him later.

((--))

Carson had learnt that he could indeed lie, and lie expertly. As an added bonus he could produce a cover story without blinking. He was lying as he explained to Sheppard about his coma. He told a slight lie when he said that Sheppard's strange scars on his back and heels were the result of pressure ulcers that had developed early on, during the coma. He'd told a big lie about how Ronon had been injured during a separate, routine mission and was currently on Earth receiving medical care.

Sheppard had taken a few more days to get fully cognizant but he seemed to accept that his confusion was a result of everything that had happened. He even accepted that Kate would need to evaluate him to ensure he was fit for duty.

They'd had to be careful. They stripped the infirmary room and the tent on the mainland of all his belongings, put them back into his quarters. There was some worry about items being out of place, but Kate had cooked up another story about having to clean up. Rodney had stripped the ceiling and walls of the shielding.

Sheppard was propped up in bed, eating scrambled eggs. Not so much eating as wolfing them down. He'd been hungry since he'd woken up, and to Carson's relief, piling away the calories.

The man with a sudden hankering for eggs and sausage waved a fork at him. "I don't usually go for this type of meal."

"I wouldn't worry. Your body still has some mending to do. It'll tell you when to stop."

"It had better. Oh, good, someone put butter on the toast." Sheppard ripped off a chunk of the toast, took a satisfied mouthful.

"As I was saying, your team got you back from the planet but by that time you arrived you were in bad shape. Turned out you'd contracted a virus, sort of like sleeping sickness. Took a darn sight longer than I expected to develop a treatment. Even had to send samples off to SGC."

"I don't remember getting sick. I just remember going to sleep on the planet."

"The memory is a tricky thing. You were febrile when you got here, woke up off and on before going into the coma. It's possible that you were simply too sick for your brain to even bother to form a long term memory."

Sheppard stopped eating. "I was really out for over a month?"

"Yes. Six weeks. You had us all scared, believe me. Almost had to ship you back to Earth."

He pulled a face. "Great, that would have capped off my life really well. Lieutenant Colonel Coma Boy."

Carson tried to laugh at the joke and not make it sound forced. He decided to change the subject. "If you've just about finished, let me check you over and then I think you can actually get out of here for a while. Go and visit Kate. Rodney's volunteered to walk over with you."

Sheppard raised an eyebrow. "That a hint Doc?"

"Maybe. It'll do you good to have a change of scenery. Take a shower, get dressed into clothes, as opposed to the gown."

Sheppard gave him a broad grin. "That's great! Man, you're in a good mood today. Normally you're in a 'just to be safe mode' and I wind up having to lie here bored out of my skull."

He returned the smile. "Not today, Colonel. I'd be more than happy to see you up and about."

Sheppard didn't bother to finish the breakfast, just pulled the covers back and bounced out of bed. As he watched the pilot walk off to the bathroom, it occurred to Carson that he'd slipped up. If Sheppard had any inkling of medicine, he'd know that after six weeks of being flat on his back, the last thing he was going to do was get himself upright and walk around.

Crap, crap, crap.

Okay, he needed to calm down. As long as they didn't make any more slips they'd be all right. As long as they maintained a collective untruth, no one would be harmed.

((--))

Sheppard walked with a spring in his step, happy to be in shoes, BDUs, his jacket. Rodney walked beside him, uncharacteristically silent. In fact, he seemed a bit down.

"What's up, Rodney? Cat got your tongue?"

The scientist didn't reply immediately and Sheppard thought he caught a familiar expression. One he'd seen on the faces of the infantry men and woman on the ground in combat zones. The haunted look of people who'd seen more than they should.

"Yes, I'm fine," said Rodney, recovering quickly.

"Are you sure? You seem…" He stopped. Didn't have the right words at the moment, couldn't quite figure out a way to broach the subject.

"Seem? Seem, what?" Rodney snapped his fingers. "Come on, Colonel. Don't leave me hanging."

Sheppard smiled. Maybe he was mistaken. Rodney was more intense than usual, which was saying a lot, but then again, Rodney had a tendency to get worked up post mission. After the pressure was gone, he tended to let off steam by becoming even more hyper.

"It's nothing. Forget it."

They stopped outside Kate's office. Sheppard went to knock on her door, hesitated, put his hand back down. "Hey, Rodney, any idea what Kate's like? I mean as a psychologist, not as a person."

Rodney blinked owlishly at him for several moments, and Sheppard could see the cogs turning.

"Um, no. Haven't you seen her before?"

"No. Managed to avoid it up until now."

"Huh. Really. Right. Okay. Well, she's good. So I hear. Very good. Saved someone's life recently, along with Carson."

"Anyone I know?"

"No."

"Oh."

"Well, time for me to head back to the labs, see what my underlings have destroyed in my absence."

"Underlings? Has anyone told you that you need to work on your relationship skills of late?"

"All the time." With that, Rodney turned on his heels, his shoulders hunched and walked back down the corridor.

Sheppard would have gone after him but the doors opened. Kate Heightmeyer smiled at him, welcomed him into her office. He stepped inside, sized the area up. The couch certainly looked comfy, and he liked the way the sun hit the stained glass in the windows and created patterns on the floor.

"Hey, nice place you have here."

The smile didn't leave her face. "So I've been told."

((--))

She waited in her office for John Sheppard to arrive. First time they'd had a meeting in over a month. First time she'd _seen_ him in over a month if she was honest with herself. Yeah, just one more thing to feel guilty about.

At the rate things were going, she'd need to schedule her own visit with Kate.

"Anyone at home?"

She jerked out of her thoughts, saw that John was standing in her office, smiling at her. He sat down in a chair, folded his arms.

"Hi there." She couldn't keep the sheer joy out of her voice.

"Hello yourself."

"I got the reports back from Carson and Kate. They've both cleared you. If you're feeling up to it, there's a trading mission I thought you might like to go on. Leaves at oh-nine-hundred tomorrow."

"I'll be there with bells on." He abruptly changed the subject. "Hey, did anything happen while I was off in the land of nod?"

"Nothing much. Colonel Caldwell took over your duties for a while but apart from that it was pretty quiet."

"So quiet you forgot to tell me about someone delivering beer?"

He was pointing at the cartons on her desk and she couldn't believe she'd forgotten about it again. Or maybe she could. Maybe it was some sort of subconscious reaction to all that had happened. That she could claim bragging rights because he was never going to find out about Royce. Never. She'd made it clear that the first person who breathed one word of Royce would be shipped back to Earth.

She stood up, picked up a carton and passed it over to him. "It's a small present from myself and everyone else. Sort of a welcome back present. We had them shipped in on the Daedalus."

He grabbed the carton off her, chuckled. "I'm going to have to ration myself because I suspect I'm not going to have the opportunity to sample again for a while."

"I get the feeling that Colonel Caldwell might get upset if part of his supply run involves shipping alcoholic beverages." She reached across, grabbed the other pack. He was now happily loaded up with one dozen bottles.

"I guess I'd better go and see if Rodney can rig me up a cooling unit of some kind. I wanna keep these puppies cold."

"He's going to love helping out."

"Sure. I can hear the complaining even now."

He turned to walk out and Elizabeth stepped forward, for one brief moment she considered telling him the truth, spilling her guts so that her own darkness would leave, so that none of them had to feel as if they were trailing a dank slime wherever they went.

"John…"

He stopped, turned around to face her, his features relaxed. No concerns, no signs of where he'd been. He waited for her to finish.

"I just wanted to say that I'm glad you're back."

He didn't answer her, just smiled slightly, ducked his head because he was embarrassed and walked out of her office, clutching the beer for all it was worth.

Elizabeth walked back to her desk, and opened her laptop. There was one last item of business she had to complete before she could safely say all of the memories were gone. Before everything was back to square one and awkwardly tied up and Sheppard was none the wiser.

She started working her way through the files and reports, hitting delete as she went.

**FIN**.


End file.
